CHAPTER ONE
Joanie
I took a big breath in and let it out in a short burst, hands on my hips, Superwoman style. My aunt once told me that it’s a power pose, that people perk up and listen when you have an air of command.
But no such luck. The pose didn’t make me feel any more confident. In fact, it made me feel weird and uncomfortable because I was interviewing for a job as a flight attendant, nervous as hell.
Being a stewardess wasn’t my first career choice, not really. But for several reasons it ended up being a good option. I just had to nail my first interview in order to get my career started. No biggie, right?
But my first appointment wasn’t going well. An older woman greeted me with a tight French twist and pruney, pursed lips. She looked me over like she was reviewing a modeling portfolio. If the lady hadn’t been sixty and female, I might have felt ogled. Well, age and gender notwithstanding, I felt pretty ogled anyways.
The woman’s eyes were sharp, not missing any details.
“Just the right size for a flight attendant,” she noted, scribbling something on my application form. That was a weird comment for sure. I mean, flight attendants can’t be super tall because of the ceiling height in commercial planes, but still. Speaking your thoughts out loud was strange.
Plus, the way her eyes sized up my figure was a little disconcerting. Again, I think there are weight restrictions for stewardesses, but with this kind of once over, I felt like a prize cow at the County Fair. Not a great feeling.
Because I’ve never been a skinny girl. With Double D breasts and ample hips, sometimes squeezing through the narrow aisles of a plane can be tough. There’s more than a little junk in the trunk back there, and half the time I was afraid I’d hit some poor passenger’s head.
But dieting doesn’t work for me. I tried that whole South Beach thing, but it was a bust. Food has always been my go to, and the more I tried to diet, the more nervous I got. The more nervous I got, the more I ate. Go figure.
But the interviewer had no idea. She looked me up and down again, eyes narrow, missing nothing. And then with a harrumph, she pronounced, “You’re hired.”
I gasped.
“Really? No-no questions for me?” came my stammer.
The lady looked down at her clipboard, reviewing my application once more.
“Everything on here is accurate, isn’t that so?” she asked. “You signed a statement certifying its validity.”
I nodded dumbly. That was true. But what interviewer doesn’t ask questions?
The woman merely nodded again, clearly impatient.
“Welcome to Elite Air,” came her clipped words. “Uniform fitting will be on Monday. Come back to the conference hall and the tailors will set you up.”
I nodded dumbly. Hey, I was gonna get a paycheck, and it seemed wise to keep my questions to a minimum. But one small one escaped my lips.
“Um, should I try to slim down?” I asked hesitantly. “For the uniform fitting? I can lose a lot in a week,” were my rushed words, although that was patently untrue. “I know the aisles on the plane must be narrow.”
The woman lowered her brows, frowning
“Absolutely not,” was her declaration. “There’s plenty of space on board, you’ll see.”
Thunderstruck, my head nodded. I thought airplanes were regulation sized. We’d practiced on a bunch of models during stewardess school, and there wasn’t a lot of room on any of the commercial aircraft.
But nodding again, I agreed.
“Okay,” came my soft voice. “Monday it is then.”
And dazed, I stepped outside onto the sidewalk, the glare on the sidewalks blinding. Who was Elite Air? Or what was it? I’d done some googling but there wasn’t much information on-line. The website said it was a private fleet catering to billionaires and famous people. Wow. Like Elon Musk or handsome George Clooney types? That sounded great.
But real life isn’t filled with George Clooneys. You’d be lucky to meet even one George Clooney in your lifetime. More likely, it was seventy year old gazillionaires who had dozens of grandchildren. That was okay. I don’t mind families at all, and kids have always made me smile. And besides, there was the paycheck. The annual salary and benefits were amazing, almost double that offered by other airlines. It’d be ridiculous to pass up this opportunity.
So the next Monday, I showed up again. And sure enough, a seamstress was on hand, taking my measurements, nodding here while pinning there. And after ten minutes, we were done. I was dressed in my first uniform, ready to fly.
But this wasn’t your regular stewardess outfit, with a dowdy cardigan and knee length skirt. Instead, it was seriously cute. Even sexy, come to think of it. The navy dress was form fitting in all the right places, with a modest décolletage that showed off my ample bust. There was an adorable matching pillbox hat, and a blue scarf with red dots to tie around my neck. The whole look was retro and jaunty and I fell in love with it immediately.
My interviewer, Helena, materialized out of nowhere, scrutinizing me in the dress. No hello, no how are you’s. Instead, she addressed her words to the seamstress.
“Perfect,” came her clipped voice. “The men will love it.”
The men?
What did that mean?
But I guess it was possible. There are certainly more male billionaires in the world than female.
And with that, I was done. Ushered into a large hangar, my breath caught. Because holy moly, the G6 was nothing like the planes we’d practiced on during stewardess school. It was sleek and aerodynamic, gleaming in the giant warehouse space.
And inside, things got even better. There was no narrow galley kitchen or cramped economy seats upholstered in polyester weave. Instead, the kitchen was full-size, complete with an oven and microwave. And there were no economy seats on this flight period. Instead, six plush chairs stood inside the cabin, upholstered in spotless white leather, creamy and inviting. If it were me, I’d be afraid to sit in them, sure I’d spill something somehow.
But that’s my job.
I’m an elite air hostess.
I don’t spill things anymore.
Not champagne, not nuts, and definitely not on the customer.
So I looked around, trying to calm my heart. But it was hard because the plane was just so luxurious. A flat screen TV rose from the floor, a bouquet of fresh flowers adding to the air of luxury. And if my eyes weren’t mistaken, there was closed door leading to a bedroom in back, complete with en suite fixtures.
Wow. Holy smokes. This was way beyond my wildest dreams. Slightly trembling, I made my way back to the front of the cabin. Ah ha, this was more like it. The staff restroom behind the cockpit was small and utilitarian, but even that was nicer than average. I thanked my lucky stars. What did I do to deserve this job? This was going to be cakewalk. All I had to do was wait on some rich people on a nice plane, rather than dealing with the masses on an aging commercial aircraft.
But there was no time to waste. Time is money in this industry, so I sprang to work, getting the warm nuts and champagne together. This was a job worth keeping, and I wanted to make a good impression my first day.
My eyes studied the manifest as the almonds warmed. Hmm, a man named Damien Dawson was our only passenger on today’s flight. My head shook with disbelief. Some people were so rich that they took solo flights, uncaring of the cost. Incredible.
And suddenly, voices sounded below, deep and melodious. Oh no, Mr. Dawson was here. But it was okay, everything was ready. The nuts were ready in their ramekin, the bubbly poured. My belly rumbled a little with nerves, but I slapped a professional smile onto my lips. Appearances mean everything when you’re flying elite.
And suddenly, he appeared. My breath caught because all the air exited the small plane, my lungs squeezed for oxygen. Unbelievably, Damien Dawson was better looking that George Clooney. Tall. Huge. With a head of perfect black hair and crystal blue eyes. The kind of eyes that could make a girl forget how to use real words, which unfortunately, was happening to me now.
But something made it out of my throat, even if I sounded like a strangled frog.
“Welcome aboard,” came my words. “Welcome, Mr. Dawson. I’m Joanie. I’ll be your flight attendant today.”
The man didn’t appear to hear. Well, he did, but only with the slightest nod my way. No matter. I’d been warned that our clientele consisted of the powerful businessmen, and they were busy guys. Mr. Dawson was probably busy thinking of his next acquisition, or his next takeover and not some meek, shy flight attendant.
No problem. They were handling billions of dollars, whereas my greatest worry was if the nuts were the right temperature. There was no need to be offended if they ignored me.
After all, a job is a job.
As the billionaire fastened his seatbelt, I stepped forwards carrying the almonds and a glass of champagne. The man declined them both with a wave of his hand and a strange gleam in those blue eyes.
“Can I get you a newspaper then?” I asked sweetly, smiling my best smile.
“No,” came that terse word.
Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.
“Okay,” I replied graciously. “I’ll check back in as soon as we get to cruising altitude.”
And soon, we were off. The bird rose into the sky smoothly, sleekly, like it was propelled by a gust of wind and not jet fuel. Wow, money really made a difference. This G6 was amazing.
But once we leveled off, I stood and made my way to the kitchen. Curiously, the service light was already on. The king was calling.
And solicitously, I made my way over.
“Sir,” I said, bending over slightly, a modest expanse of décolletage revealed. “You called? Can I get you something?”
Those blue eyes missed nothing, sweeping over the creamy flesh and making me flush.
But the billionaire was unperturbed.
“I’d like some nuts after all,” Mr. Dawson growled. “And a newspaper.”
“I’d be happy to assist you,” I replied, scurrying off to scoop some of the nuts from the warmer into a ceramic ramekin bearing the Elite Air logo. Everything around this place matched.
But big surprises were coming because when I leaned over to sit the tray down on his table, the billionaire put a hand on mine, warm and hard.
My eyes flew up to his, questioning.
But that smooth face was impassive.
“What did you say your name was?” he rumbled again.
“I’m Joanie,” I choked out on a strangled breath. But it came out sounding like Jo-Joanie, so I tried again.
“I’m Joanie,” I repeated again with a professional smile. “Joanie MacAllister at your service.”
The alpha flashed a white smile then.
“Well, Joanie, how long have you been working for Elite?”
I blushed. Had I done something wrong? Did he sense that I was a newbie?
“Actually,” I murmured, cheeks pink. “This is my first day. So if I did something wrong, sir, please let me know. I just got out of flight school.”
One black eyebrow raised.
“Flight school, hmmm?” he pondered. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
I blushed again.
“It’s not flight school for pilots,” were my fumbling words. “Not like Top Gun or anything like that. It’s flight school for stewardesses, folks like me who want to be air attendants.”
Those blue eyes gleamed my way.
“And what did you learn?” he asked smoothly. “What did they teach you?”
I blushed. Why was Mr. Dawson asking me all these questions? It was so awkward, the air growing steamy and hot as the billionaire took me in. Did they have the fan circulating in this place?
Because there was something in that gaze.
Something hungry.
Filled with secrets.
And the man gestured for me to sit across from him then.
“Oh no, I shouldn’t,” came my demurral. “The seats are for passengers only.”
But Mr. Dawson merely raised his brows again. And mesmerized, my plump form slowly lowered itself into the white leather chair. Oh wow. This thing was like a cloud, soft and cushiony while still providing support. I could fall asleep here.
But not with Damien Dawson looking at me like that. The alpha quirked an eyebrow again.
“So what did they teach you?” he asked in that smooth growl. “What did you learn?”
I blushed.
“Well, they taught me about emergency landings,” I said slowly. “How to inflate the life vest. How to direct panicked passengers to the nearest exit, that kind of thing.”
He nodded thoughtfully, steepling his hands.
“What else?” that low voice rumbled.
I fumbled. This was weird. Really weird. But I had no choice but to go with it. Maybe they evaluated all the new girls this way, doing a pop quiz to test our knowledge.
“They taught us how to lay out silverware,” I said slowly. “The knives facing inwards, bread on the left, and drinks on the right.”
The billionaire nodded thoughtfully.
“Getting closer,” came that smooth drawl. “And what else? What else relating to silverware?”
Was he fishing for something? I stared at that big form momentarily, but then caught myself. The first rule of service is that the customer is always right. So no matter how weird this was, I had to respond.
“They taught me how to serve,” I said slowly. “How to open the tray table gracefully, how to place each dish in the right place so that it makes for a harmonious presentation of food.”
“Good,” he drawled. “Very good. I see that you had elite training, the kind reserved for the best of the best.”
I nodded. That was true. During flight school, they’d pulled a couple of us aside for extended classes. I hadn’t realized it was for the best of the best, I’d thought it was because I was clumsy. But thinking back, maybe that had been wrong. Maybe it was because those girls showed promise and the ability to deliver a higher class of service?
Who knew? I was so mixed up at this point.
But Mr. Dawson wasn’t confused at all.
“So what else did they teach you about serving?” he drawled again.
My cheeks colored, mouth opening momentarily.
But I couldn’t think of anything to say. So following the golden rule, I blurted the only thing that popped into mind.
“The customer is always right,” was my blurted reply. “Always.”
And with that, those blue eyes flashed.
“Exactly sweetheart,” Mr. Dawson complimented. “I can see that you were a good student. And now let’s put those skills to use.”
My mouth opened and closed once more without sound, like a fish out of water.
“I’m sorry?” came my flabbergasted voice. “How? What- what should I do?”
And the gleam in his eyes hardened.
“Serve them to me,” he commanded.
I looked around. The only thing I could possibly serve was the nuts.
“Th-this sir?” I stammered, gesturing to the ceramic ramekin. “This?”
He smiled lazily, that big form relaxed.
“That’s it exactly,” he drawled.
But how? What was I supposed to do? Feed them to him?
That was ludicrous. Absolutely insane.
But maybe that’s what rich guys expected on private flights. Maybe they expected the stewardess to feed them peeled grapes, just like aristocrats in ancient Rome.
So with a trembling hand, I picked up the small dish and took an almond out, raising one hand towards his lips. Oh god. This was weird, and yet I was strangely turned on. Could this really be happening?
But we were seated too far apart, so I leaned forward in my chair, reaching once more towards those sculpted lips.
“Stop,” came that deep voice.
I stopped immediately, hand still raised. Oh god, oh god, had I screwed up entirely? Had I completely messed up? Was I going to be fired on my first day?
But his voice was silky, those eyes filled with intense blue fire that made me burn from the inside out. In betrayal, my body flushed, insides going wet and warm. Oh god. I hadn’t done things wrong, but the alpha wanted something else.
And a corner of that beautiful mouth pulled up cruelly.
“Feed them to me off your tits,” he commanded.
I couldn’t move for a moment. What? Had I heard right? What in the world?
Those blue eyes never left mine.
“You heard me,” came that silky voice. “Now do it. Feed. The almonds. To me. Off your tits.”
A gasp escaped my mouth.
“What?” was my breathless cry. “What? How?”
Why was I even asking how, like it was a possibility to be entertained? There shouldn’t have been a how.
But the billionaire merely smiled lazily again, that big form relaxed yet poised to strike.
“Undo your dress,” he commanded in a raspy voice. “Let those tits out. Press them together so they’re like a shelf, and then scatter the nuts on top. I’ll snack on them as I see fit.”
What? My cheeks were scarlet now, burning with fire.
Because he wanted me to use my boobies like a platter. A white serving dish that he’d caress with his fingers each time he brought a nut to his mouth.
It was true.
Dirty and filthy, but absolutely true.
And the billionaire looked right back at me, blue eyes daring.
I couldn’t.
I was being paid well, but not that well.
But shamefully, my hands began to obey. They reached behind my back and fumbled for the zip of my dress, pulling it down in slow motion. And gradually, the navy material fell from my curves until my girls were revealed in their full glory, white sacks of cream with pale pink nipples, already large and distended.
Because the worst part of all this was that I aroused, and now the proof was there for him to see. And to my embarrassment, there was no bra. During the fitting, the seamstress had insisted that I go without.
“What?” I’d protested. “Who doesn’t wear a bra?”
But Thelma had merely clucked and made some excuse. Her English wasn’t so good, so I was sure I’d misunderstood at first.
“The men, they don’t want,” she’d said. “They don’t want.”
I’d gaped, certain I was hearing wrong. But Thelma shook her head again.
“No bra,” she said with finality. “Not necessary.”
And I’d given in because I was young, inexperienced, and it was my first day. I figured I’d slip some lingerie on afterwards, when I had some time to myself.
But now that no-bra command was my downfall. Because as my girls came into view, it was obvious I as desperately turned on, the pink tips like bullets pointing straight at Mr. Dawson.
And he looked right back, that gaze hungry like a ravenous lion.
“Very nice,” he rumbled, eyes eating me up, trailing all over that creamy flesh. “Very nice.”
But he didn’t touch me. Not yet at least.
“Kneel,” was his command. “Right here,” he said, gesturing to the aisle next to his seat.
I gasped again. I was supposed to kneel at his side like an obedient dog? But it got worse because dog was too generous a description. Instead, I was supposed to kneel at his side like a silent piece of furniture, an ornament even, the almonds proffered on my creamy breasts, available for his pleasure.
And what could I do? I’d already gone so far. My dress was already scrunched down to my waist, big boobies out. The pink nipples were hard as diamonds, and the smell of hungry pussy had begun to waft in the air.
Oh god, oh god.
Because the billionaire could detect it for sure.
Those patrician nostrils flared, sensing the aroma of aroused female, and another knowing grin crossed his face.
“Down,” he commanded, blue eyes seizing mine.
And with trembling legs, I obeyed.
Slowly, I lowered my curvy form so that I knelt next to the billionaire in the aisle, facing his lap. And then my small hands swept upwards, sliding over my waist until they cupped my tits, the flesh overflowing.
“Push ‘em together,” he growled, voice tight. “Tight so it’s like a plate.”
Oh god, the strong smell of wet cunt was unmistakable in the air now. A slight sheen of sweat broke out on my back, but there was no denying the alpha. Because never taking my eyes from his, I obeyed. Cupping my tits, I pushed them up and together so they formed a luscious tableau, a human plate for his pleasure.
And Mr. Dawson was pleased indeed. His eyes ate everything up, sweeping over my kneeling form, the subservient angle of my bent head.
“Perfect,” he rasped. “Perfect, pretty girl. I like it. A lot.”
And with that, he casually scattered a handful of almonds across my white breasts. A couple bounced, leaving small trails of salt, but pretty soon I was adorned like a milk-white platter.
My boobs, naked and creamy, pushed up so that they formed a flat surface.
The nuts scattered carelessly across my flesh, a few even sliding into the shadowy crevice in between.
And Mr. Dawson grinned then, that white smile flashing.
“Perfect, Ms. Evans,” he drawled. “Thank you for setting this up.”
And with that, he leaned back in his chair, opening his newspaper with a snap.
Was that all?
Was I really a piece of furniture, nothing more?
It seemed like it for sure.
But then one big hand snaked out, trailing lightly over my sensitive tits until finding a nut. Then he popped it into his mouth, eyes meeting mine over the paper.
“Tastes good,” the man growled. “Real good.”
I gaped at him, no words coming to mind. Because this was so wrong. Here I was on my first day, dress pooled around my waist, kneeling by a billionaire’s chair while pushing my naked boobies up. I was his almond platter. This was crazy.
But then the billionaire’s eyes met mine again.
“I think they’ll taste even better from here,” he growled. And with that, his finger reached for one of the nuts that’d dropped between my breasts. Those long, clever fingers stroked the shadowy cleft, teasing my skin. And unbidden, I moaned.
“Oh,” was the gasping cry. “Oh.”
Mr. Dawson’s smile flashed again as he popped the almond into his mouth, biting down with a satisfying crunch.
“Even better,” he remarked, those blue eyes hungry. “Even better.”
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Already, my thighs were burning, calves stretched from this kneeling position. But trying to move didn’t even cross my mind. Because I was here for Mr. Dawson’s pleasure, to do whatever he wanted. Whatever his whims, I had to obey.
So I merely turned big brown eyes his way, pink pout parting slightly.
“Yes, Mr. Dawson,” I whispered. “Whatever you like.”
The big man smiled again, shifting slightly in his seat. And that’s when I saw it. Recent events had been so mindblowing that I hadn’t been able to see very well. My eyes were open but not much had registered.
But now, my senses were on high.
Because when he lifted the newspaper, it was there.
That giant club.
A huge, Godzilla-sized cock that stood upright and stiff, almost purple he was so aroused. A vein pulsed hotly on one side, trailing all the way from base to tip.
Oh god, oh god.
I stared, eyes wide, trembling in my pose.
Was that because of me?
Did he love having me like this? Seeing me like this? So much so, that his cock was leaking from that tiny hole, the glans purple and shiny?
Evidently so because Mr. Dawson followed my gaze.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he rumbled smoothly. “It got hot, so I let it out. He won’t bite.”
I could only nod breathlessly, eyes still mesmerized. While I’d been unzipping my dress, he must have unzipped his trousers. And now the result was here to see.
Because it was magnificent.
At least ten inches, throbbing and powerful, making my mouth water.
And the handsome billionaire knew exactly what I was thinking.
“You want a taste?” he asked, voice raspy. “You want a taste?”
Of course I wanted a taste! I mean, I didn’t. I mean, I did.
But the alpha didn’t wait for an answer. Because he reached over, broad fingertips taking another almond from my breasts and held it up to the head of his cock. And then one big hand slipped up and down that shaft, squeezing and milking it.
As if on cue, a white drop of cum beaded at the top. My mouth went dry. The pearl was luminescent, beckoning to me, and unbidden, my lips parted.
But Mr. Dawson had other plans. Because slowly and carefully, he dipped that almond into the bead of cum, coating it with man milk until it was shiny and wet. And then with a gleam to his eyes, he held the almond out to me on one flat palm.
“Come and get it, sweet thing,” he growled. “This is for you.”
And like a hungry dog, I leaned forward, eating the nut from his palm. Oh god, a burst of flavor splashed over my senses. The almond itself was the same as always, slightly bitter and nutty. But there was a new salty-sweet flavor, viscous and milky, making me swoon.
I crunched down slowly, eyes fluttering closed, savoring the cum-coated almond.
“Mmmm,” was my breathless moan. “Mmmm.”
And Mr. Dawson’s low chuckle startled me from my reverie.
“You’re gonna work out real good,” he rumbled, eyeing my curvy form lasciviously. “You’re gonna be one of our best hires for sure.”
I stared at him, still chewing a bit before swallowing with an audible gulp. Oh god, the almond had been delicious and suddenly, I wanted more. I wanted more of whatever he had planned, of whatever he wanted to do. So I nodded my head, our eyes connected by a trail of intense fire.
“Yes, Mr. Dawson,” came my dulcet murmur. “Yes, whatever you like.”
And oh god, but the rest of the trip was amazing. No, the billionaire didn’t do that much more. As much as I wanted to feel that huge dong inside my mouth, savoring the source of heavenly semen, he didn’t take action. Instead, the man flipped his newspaper back up and returned to reading, occasionally fingering an almond like nothing had happened.
Nothing of course, except that I was bare to the waist, big boobies out.
Nothing except the fact that he had a panting, aroused female next to him, creaming desperately within.
But Mr. Dawson was training me to be his servant. His slave. His plaything. Because the man pretty much ignored me, immersed in his paper.
Well, as immersed as you can be with a giant cock out, stiff and straight, ready for action.
Because he didn’t hide it. He didn’t tuck it back into his pants. And so for the remainder of the flight, I held still, letting him use my body as I stared longingly at that massive pole, the tip oozing pre-cum like a never-ending faucet.
It was only when the seatbelt light flashed on that that newspaper came down once more.
“Good,” the billionaire said, eyes sweeping over my kneeling form. “Very good.”
And then he looked down at his cock.
“I’ve really made a mess of things haven’t I?” he rumbled deep in his throat. “Go ahead, Miss Evans. Clean it up.”
I gasped, eyes flying up to clash with the blue.
“You-you mean the mess in your lap?” I whispered. Because it was true. At this point, so much semen had leaked out that his pole was glossy and shiny, drenched with the good stuff. Even his trousers were a little stained, there was so much fluid.
One black eyebrow quirked.
“That’s your job, isn’t it?” he rumbled again. “To clean? Isn’t that what we hired you to do?”
And I nodded, small pink tongue sweeping over my lips tentatively.
The gleam in his eyes deepened then, seeing that gesture.
“Now,” he rasped. “Now.”
And immediately, I obeyed. Leaning forwards, my tongue gently brushed over the head of his cock. It jerked under my soft caress, immediately spurting a little on my chin, warm and wet.
“Unnh,” grunted the man, fisting his base now. “Here, I’ll hold it for you so that it’s still. Now clean.”
And pussy creaming so hot, I dove onto his pole. I’ve actually never given head to a man. Oh sure, there have been boys who were interested, who begged me to touch their willies. But it wasn’t appealing. First, because they were pimple-faced adolescents, nothing like the gorgeous billionaire here. And second, the boys’ private parts were tiny, only half this size, limp and rubbery. Nothing like the magnificent monster beckoning to me now.
So with a hungry moan, I did it. I lowered my head and began slurping on his manshaft, taking as much as possible into my mouth until my cheeks bulged.
“Mmmm,” was my low moan. “Mmmm.”
One big hand came to rest on my head.
“Slow,” that low voice ground out. “Appreciate your eagerness sweetheart, but no sense in choking yourself. Slow.”
So I pulled off for a moment to stare at him, brown eyes wide. By now, my boobies were free, giant gazongas pressed against his knees. It must have been such a slutty sight. My mouth and chin dripping with semen, hot cunt smell musky in the air.
“But Mr. Dawson,” came my small mewl again. “I love it so much.”
And the dark man smiled lasciviously.
“I know you do sweetheart,” he ground out. “I know you do. But no worries, we’ll be taking a lot of flights together in the future. So no need to get ahead of yourself. Just enjoy the ride.”
And nodding, I bent my head again. Because this is what I want. It was so wrong. I’m a flight attendant, not a hooker for hire. But the situation had permeated my mind and body, and suddenly I wanted to take everything he had to offer. The cum. The hot semen in my mouth, my pussy, spurting anywhere he wanted.
But he’d promised more, so I obeyed. No need to rush. And slowly, lovingly, I ran my tongue up and down that hard shaft, drinking in the male musk, savoring each inch of that iron rod.
“Mmmm,” came my throaty purr. “Oh mmmm.”
My pussy felt like it was gonna burst, clit throbbing and hard. And Mr. Dawson knew. As I lapped at that giant manshaft, he leaned over, one massive palm stroking my back and lifting my skirt until the white cheeks showed.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “Fuck you’re beautiful.”
And then it happened. The man stroked over my butt cheeks, pulling my thong out from my crevice. And then he pushed two fingers into that tight warmth, sampling the hot female dew.
“Ohhhhh!” I screamed. “Oh god!”
Because that’s all it took. I was so aroused by the steamy play of the last half hour that my body was already cranked to a ten out of ten. And the massive male fingers pushing insistently into my warmth forced me over the edge, the heat and insistence so delectable.
“Unnnnh!” I screamed once more, mouth stuffed with manmeat. “Unnnh!”
And that was it. I exploded around his fingers, screaming with ecstasy as my pussy clenched and pulsed on his fingers.
“Mmmm!” was my muffled shriek. “Mmmm!”
And my mouth must have done something at that instant as well. Because suddenly hot jets of sperm spurted wildly into my oral chamber, hitting the back of my throat as I swallowed furiously, trying to capture it all.
“FUCK!” swore the big billionaire, stuffing his fingers even further in. “Fuck fuck!”
And we were caught in a loop. The more semen into my mouth, the harder I swallowed. The harder I swallowed, the harder the alpha pushed his fingers into my cunt, making me cream even more. And then my mouth sucked even more ferociously, milking the man of every last drop of cum.
It was the best feedback loop ever, the most enticing, arousing situation I’ve ever been in. Because the truth is, I’ve never really touched a man. Nor have I ever let any man touch me, even though they tried. It’s just something that’s never appealed, with the boys gangly and nervous, their breath stinking of garbage.
But this was a different situation. A different circumstance, pressed into service by a gorgeous, magnetic billionaire. We were on a private charter flight high in the clouds, our privacy guaranteed by his money and power. No one would interrupt us. If the man wanted to throw me into the back room and shove that massive cock into my steaming pussy, there wouldn’t be a peep of protest.
And the thing is, I would have said yes. If he told the pilot to fly over the Atlantic, extending this flight by another ten hours, I would have said yes. I would have watched as Mr. Dawson locked the door on the private cabin and took me ten ways until Sunday.
But the seatbelt light had already come on. Damien’s cock, though still firm, was merely dribbling into my mouth now, instead of spurting hot lashes of juice. And my cunt, though still horny and wet, was merely quivering on his fingers instead of clamping hard with every scream.
The billionaire leaned back in his chair, pulling his hand from my secret space with a obscene wet squelch. Oh god oh god. Even the sounds were so disgusting, yet erotic all the same. Oh god.
And slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet his, lips slightly parted.
“There’s a gob of cum on your tongue,” he rasped, eyeing my flushed face. “I’d swallow that before we land.”
Cheeks going bright red, my mouth snapped shut and I swallowed hard, the gooey liquid disappearing, before scrambling back into my dress. How did I look? With flying hands, I patted my curls into place, straightening the canvas fabric of my apron while stepping back into those high heels. What kind of stewardess wore four inch stilettos, the arch so high that my bust was thrown forwards, hips pulled back? Well, now I knew why.
And never dropping my gaze, Mr. Dawson tucked himself back in, pulling his blazer forwards to hide the slight wet spot at his crotch.
“You were great,” he said casually, eyes looking over my heaving form. “Just perfect. I’ll tell them to make a note in your file.”
And dumbly, my chin nodded.
“Thank you sir,” came my trembling voice. “Thank you.”
Turning on my heel, I walked unsteadily back to the front of the plane, disappearing behind the partition where the stewardess’s jump seat was hidden. And only after I was buckled safely, did I let myself breathe deep for the first time in hours. Because had that really happened? Had I just sucked a handsome man’s cock hungrily, letting him stroke my pussy until it creamed deliciously? Had I really gulped every last drop of sperm like an adoring slut, letting Mr. Dawson use my body any way he saw fit?
And in the dimly lit corner, my pussy pulsed its answer. Because yes, it’d happened. The alpha had taken over my senses with his filthy ways, his unerring air of command. And it’d been so good and so amazing … that I only wanted to do it again.