Her flight had landed. At the bag carousel, I waited and waited. Finally, she appeared: silk top, pencil skirt, dark stockings, low heels. We both smiled. Passionately, we kissed, claimed the last remaining bag, then hailed a cab.
Barely en route, she unzipped me. A carefully manicured hand, tongue, and her lips enveloped me.
She stopped. I groaned. Facing, she climbed and guided. We fucked, quietly, to our orgasms.
The driver surreptitiously watched.
“Why so late to the bag claim?” I later asked.
“To slip into this body stocking for you,” she replied, raising her skirt to show me.
