“Mom, your uniform looks tighter than the flight attendants’.”
Cecilia paused mid-stride, one manicured hand resting on the doorframe of her teenage daughter’s bedroom. She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “That’s because it’s tailored, Maya. Not stuffed into a locker like your gym clothes.”
Maya rolled her eyes but grinned, tossing a crumpled hoodie into the laundry basket. “Whatever. Just saying, Captain Hotshot, the guys at the airport probably don’t stare at your wings first.”
Cecilia smirked, adjusting the crisp epaulettes on her shoulders. The navy-blue blazer hugged her waist just right—not that she’d admit Maya had a point. At 5’8″, she was taller than most pilots, and her runway-honed posture made her seem taller. The blazer’s cut emphasized the curve of her hips, the slacks clinging just enough to hint at the shape beneath without breaking dress code. Mostly.
Downstairs, her son Lucas banged a spoon against his cereal bowl. “Mom! Did you iron my shirt?”
The Boeing 747’s engines thrummed through Cecilia’s body like a second pulse as she guided the mammoth aircraft through a bank of cumulus clouds. The vibrations traveled up her thighs, settling in that familiar, insistent throb between her legs, her body’s involuntary response to the raw power humming beneath her palms.
The starched cotton of her shirt rasped against her nipples with every minor adjustment of the yoke, the friction sharp enough to make her breath hitch. She’d stopped wearing padded bras years ago; let the men in the control tower choke on their coffee when her silhouette crossed the tarmac, the outline of her hardened nipples pressing against the fabric like accusations.
At cruising altitude, she uncrossed her legs just enough to relieve the pressure, the movement pulling her slacks taut across her thighs. The dampness there was deliberate; a secret rebellion against the sterile, masculine world of aviation. She’d been told her entire career that pilots were supposed to be ghosts in the cockpit, invisible except for their voices on the radio. But Cecilia had spent too many years under spotlights to vanish into the background. The crease of her camel toe was as much a signature as the precision of her landings.
First Officer Reynolds cleared his throat for the third time in twenty minutes. She didn’t glance over, already knowing where his gaze would be lingering, the way her blazer gaped slightly when she reached for the overhead panel, the hint of lace at her collar where the top button strained. Let him look. Let them all look. She’d spent her twenties as a runway model, her body dissected by a thousand cameras; a cockpit was nothing compared to that kind of scrutiny.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, and her hips lifted momentarily from the seat, the sudden jolt sending a shock of pleasure straight to her core. She bit down on a smirk. The boys in the hangar called her “Tiger” not just for her landing style, but for the way she moved like something barely caged, all coiled muscle and suppressed hunger. Even now, her fingers flexed against the throttle, imagining it was something else entirely.
Below, the Atlantic stretched out like an indifferent lover. Cecilia adjusted her headset, her voice calm as she relayed their position to air traffic control. Nobody hearing her would guess that her thighs were clenched around nothing, that her nipples ached for the weight of a palm that wasn’t her own. The plane shuddered again, and this time she let out a slow breath through her nose. Ten more hours to Heathrow. Ten more hours of this delicious, unbearable tension.
The rumor had slithered through the crew lounge two weeks ago, whispers about Reynolds in the showers after a transatlantic haul, about the way his towel never quite hid the obscene outline beneath. Ten inches, they said. Straight as a runway and just as demanding. Cecilia had filed it away with the same detached amusement she reserved for turbulence reports, until today, until the fourth time Reynolds’ knuckles brushed her thigh while handing her a coffee.
She let her blazer fall open as she reached for the thermos, knowing exactly how the overhead light would catch her nipples through the starched white shirt. Cecilia took a slow sip, her tongue flicking against the rim just to watch his pupils dilate. “Something wrong, Reynolds?” she purred, tilting her head so the headset cord traced the line of her throat. “You keep staring at my epaulettes.”
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. The cockpit’s climate control was flawless; this wasn’t the plane’s doing. She crossed her legs deliberately, the slacks pulling tight enough to outline the seam of her panties. His gaze dropped for half a second. Cecilia smiled, the same one she’d used to melt photographers at Milan Fashion Week. “You know,” she mused, tapping the altimeter with a manicured finger, “they say the best pilots have excellent manual dexterity.”
Reynolds choked on his own spit. The plane chose that moment to hit another air pocket, and Cecilia let the motion arch her back, her shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. His fingers clenched around the yoke like he was imagining it was her waist. She could practically smell the suppressed desire.
She waited until he was adjusting the fuel mixture to “accidentally” bump his elbow with her breast, the stiff peak of her nipple dragging across his forearm. His breath hitched. Cecilia pretended not to notice, focusing on the radar screen with mock concentration. “Storm system ahead,” she murmured, though the sky was clear. Let him squirm.
Reynolds had heard the stories long before he ever stepped into the cockpit with her from senior captains who’d flown with Cecilia before. The way they’d lower their voices when describing how she’d once fucked a co-pilot mid-flight over the Andes, her thighs gripping the armrests while she rode him through turbulence, her moans muffled by the roar of the engines. They said she preferred them thick, the kind of girth that stretched her lips wide, and that her pussy had a way of pulsing rhythmically around a cock as if trying to wring out every last drop.
A first officer from Singapore swore he’d seen her labia, long, dusky pink folds that glistened even in the dim cockpit lighting, when she’d “adjusted her stockings” during a red-eye to Frankfurt. Reynolds had laughed it off then. Now, with her crossing her legs just so beside him, the fabric of her slacks pulling taut over what had to be bare skin beneath, he wasn’t laughing.
The intercom crackled with a routine check-in from the cabin crew, but Reynolds barely registered it. His fingers twitched against the throttle, his imagination conjuring the heat of her thighs under his palms, the way her breath would hitch if he slid a hand up the inside of her leg right now. He’d heard she liked it rough, that she’d arch into a slap as easily as she’d arch into a landing, her body thrumming with the same intensity she poured into controlling 400 tons of steel and fuel. The thought made his cock strain against his zipper, the fabric suddenly unbearable.
Cecilia stretched, her arms lifting overhead in a way that pulled her shirt taut across her chest, the outline of her nipples sharp enough to cut glass. Reynolds swallowed hard. She turned her head slowly, catching him mid-stare, and the corner of her mouth curled. “Problem, First Officer?” Her voice was honey poured over gravel, sweet but with an edge that promised she could break him if she wanted to.
He opened his mouth, closed it. The altimeter ticked upward another hundred feet. Somewhere below them, the ocean churned, indifferent to the tension thickening the air between the pilot seats. Cecilia uncrossed her legs only to recross them the other way, the movement deliberate, her ankle brushing his calf for the briefest second. Reynolds inhaled sharply through his nose, was that the faintest musk of her arousal, or just his imagination turning the recycled cabin air into something primal?
She reached for the navigation chart, her forearm brushing his as she spread it across their shared console. “Storm’s coming,” she murmured, though the radar showed clear skies for miles. Her fingernail traced a line across the map that had nothing to do with their flight path. Reynolds’ pulse hammered in his throat. He knew damn well she wasn’t talking about weather.
The copilot’s knuckles whitened as he flipped on autopilot with a sharp jab. “Captain,” he said, “I could fly this plane one-handed while making you scream loud enough to drown out the engines.” His voice didn’t waver now. It dropped lower, rougher, vibrating through the headset like gravel against silk. “Ten inches is just the fuselage. Wait till you feel the afterburners.”
Cecilia arched an eyebrow, pulse hammering where the seam bit into her clit. The cockpit suddenly felt smaller, the air between them charged like the moment before lightning strikes. She watched his hands hover over the controls with the same predatory stillness she’d seen in jungle cats before they pounced.
“Prove it,” she breathed, spreading her thighs wider until the seam split her soaked folds open like a zipper.
The copilot didn’t hesitate. His left hand stayed on the yoke while his right slid under the seat, not for the emergency manual, but to unbuckle himself with a single practiced flick. His harness slithered away like a defeated serpent. “Altitude holding steady at thirty-seven thousand,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers as he stood just enough to shove his slacks down his hips.
The fabric pooled around his polished shoes, revealing thick thighs dusted with golden hair and between them. Christ, the rumors hadn’t lied. His cock sprang free, glistening at the tip, veins standing in relief along the monstrous length. “Autopilot engaged,” he added, fingers wrapping around himself in a slow stroke that made Cecilia’s clit throb in sympathy.
She swallowed hard, her own breath shallow as she took in the sheer girth of him; the way his fist barely closed around the base, the purpling head that would stretch her lips obscenely.
Without breaking eye contact, she unbuttoned her slacks with trembling fingers, the fabric peeling away from her soaked skin with an audible sound. The copilot’s nostrils flared as her scent hit him anew, musky, ripe, a runway slick with need. “I could die tomorrow,” Cecilia whispered, kicking off her heels and spreading her legs wide, “but not without this cock in me first.”
His growl rattled the cockpit as he lunged across the center console, fingers digging into her thighs to yank her closer. The yoke jerked in protest, the plane banking slightly before autopilot corrected. “You’ll get every inch,” he promised, lips brushing her inner thigh, hot breath making her clit twitch. “After I make you come so hard you forget your fucking name.” His tongue swiped up her seam in one long, filthy stroke, and Cecilia arched off the seat with a cry, fingers tangling in his regulation-cut hair.
The taste of her exploded across his tongue. He ate her like a man starving, sucking her swollen clit between his lips while his thumbs spread her wider, exposing her fluttering hole to the recycled cabin air. Cecilia’s moans synced with the engine’s drone, her hips grinding against his face as he buried his nose in her curls, inhaling her pheromone-rich scent like it was the only oxygen left on the plane.
Her pussy was obscene; a fat, glistening split plum with labia so plump they spilled from her slit even when relaxed. Now, swollen with want, they pulsed around his tongue like a living thing, dripping honeyed slickness down his chin. The copilot groaned into her folds, his fingers sinking knuckle-deep into the velvety flesh of her inner thighs.
He’d fucked runway models, air hostesses, even a CEO’s wife in a first-class bathroom, but never this—never a cunt so greedy it sucked at his tongue with each retreat, never lips so thick he could pinch them between his teeth and make her scream into her headset.
Cecilia arched, her clit throbbing against his upper lip as he swirled his tongue around it. Her juices tasted of ripe peaches and salt, the kind of flavor that made his cock jerk against the console, smearing pre-cum across polished plastic.
Her labia darkened to a deep rose where he’d bitten them, the inner folds fluttering desperate to be stretched. He dragged his tongue through her slit from perineum to clit, savoring the way her outer lips clung to his face, leaving her musk painted across his cheekbones.
Her womb clenched with each flick of his tongue, deep, involuntary contractions that sent fresh gushes of honey spilling down her ass crack. The copilot growled against her flesh, licking a stripe upward to catch the overflow before it soaked into the seat fabric. Cecilia’s thighs trembled, her heels digging into his back as he suckled her clit between his teeth just shy of pain.
The pressure built like a jet engine spooling up, heat radiating from her core in waves that tightened her nipples against the starched shirt. She could feel every ridge of his palate, every stubble burn along her inner thighs, the wet slap of his lips as he devoured her like a man possessed.
Her butterfly cunt fluttered obscenely around nothing, outer lips swollen into fat petals that clung to his chin whenever he pulled back.
The copilot’s nose bumped her asshole as he mouthed lower, tongue spearing into her entrance with a filthy squelch that echoed through the headset. Cecilia’s fingers convulsed in his hair; he only groaned and buried deeper, drinking her down in greedy gulps. Her slick coated his throat now, dripping to darken his collar, the scent of her arousal rising like steam between them.
She could hear it, the wet, rhythmic sounds of his face buried in her cunt, the creak of leather as his free hand fisted his cock in time with each thrust of his tongue.
When he finally pulled away, his lips glistened like he’d French-kissed a jar of honey. His cock bobbed between them, glistening tip gliding through her folds as if magnetized, a perfect fit for the aching split of her. The swollen head caught on her labia, the flesh clinging for a heartbeat before yielding with a lewd pop.
Cecilia’s breath hitched as the first inch breached her, her inner muscles spasming around the intrusion. Her pussy was built for this; the thick, dark lips stretched obscenely around his girth, her inner folds sucking him deeper with each shallow rock of his hips. She could feel every vein, every ridge as her cunt swallowed him inch by impossible inch, her cervix fluttering in anticipation of being battered.
Then he bottomed out.
Cecilia’s spine bowed like a spring as ten inches of throbbing cock plowed into her womb with a single piston-like thrust. The head of him kissed her cervix with bruising force, reshaping her from the inside out; she felt her labia stretch obscenely around his girth, her swollen outer lips pulled taut like rubber bands around his shaft.
The copilot growled, his grip on her hips tightening as he dragged her onto him again, the wet slap of skin drowning out the engine hum. Her cunt was a vise of molten silk, clenching in erratic pulses around his length as her orgasm tore through her like turbulence, uncontrollable, violent, leaving her gasping into the headset mic.
Her juices gushed around his cock in thick waves, soaking the seat beneath them as he hammered into her with the same relentless precision as the autopilot’s altitude corrections. Every thrust stretched her labia wider, the pink flesh glistening where it clung to his veined shaft before rebounding with a lewd smack.
Cecilia’s vision blurred; her clit throbbed in time with each brutal impact, her cervix yielding just enough to take the punishing depth before rebounding. The copilot’s breath was ragged in her ear, his teeth scraping her neck as he fucked her with jackhammer strokes that made the control panels rattle.
Her cunt was a slick, clenching vise each involuntary squeeze around his girth milked another groan from him. She could feel the wet slap of his balls against her ass, the primal rhythm syncing with the jet’s vibrations until her entire world narrowed to the thick cock splitting her apart.
Her swollen labia stretched obscenely around his base with every withdrawal, stretched to their limit before he plunged back in, burying himself to the hilt. The pressure was unbearable. His cockhead kissing her womb with bruising force, her inner walls fluttering like frantic butterfly wings trying to accommodate him.
Just as she thought her body couldn’t take anymore, his thrusts turned jagged and erratic—his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and held. A guttural snarl tore from his throat as his cock jerked inside her, painting her womb with thick, molten spurts.
Cecilia gasped as her swollen cervix clamped down around him like a vacuum seal, trapping every pulse of cum inside her. Not a single drop escaped; her pussy lips hugged the base of his shaft in a perfect, greedy embrace. The pressure was exquisite. Each twitch of his cock sent fresh waves of heat spiraling through her core, her inner muscles milking him dry with relentless, rhythmic contractions.
Her clit throbbed violently, still oversensitive from her last orgasm, yet somehow building toward another. She could feel his cum pooling hot inside her, the sheer volume of it making her lower belly swell slightly against the confines of her unbuttoned slacks.
Her womb ached with a deep, primal satisfaction as her cervix flexed around his tip, refusing to relinquish its prize. His fingers dug bruises into her hips as he ground deeper, forcing out another thick rope that made her whimper. The scent of their coupling filled the cockpit, thick enough to taste.
With a wet pop, he withdrew, his cock glistening with her slick and his own spend. Cecilia didn’t hesitate. She slid from the seat onto her knees between his spread thighs, her lips already parted.
The first taste hit her tongue was bitter, salty, but the moan that escaped her wasn’t feigned. She’d always loved this part. His hand fisted in her pinned-up hair as she took him deep, her nose pressing into the damp curls at his base. Her throat opened effortlessly, swallowing him whole until her lips met his knotty veins. The copilot’s groan rattled the cockpit when she hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard enough to make his toes curl in regulation shoes.
She pulled back just enough to swirl her tongue around his flared head, catching the last pearly drops before they could fall. His cock twitched against her lips, already filling again thickening in her mouth with terrifying speed. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and she took it, her throat muscles fluttering around his intrusion. The headset dangled from one ear as she looked up through her lashes, watching his jaw clench. His fingers tightened in her hair when she hummed, the vibration traveling straight to his balls.
She swallowed around him, her uvula brushing his tip as she took him deeper still. His cock pulsed against her tongue. Her fingers dug into his thighs as she began bobbing her head in earnest, using the weight of his erection to throat herself with each downward plunge. The wet sounds filled the cockpit, louder than the engines now. His hips snapped up to meet her, and she let him, her nose buried in the musk-damp curls at his base.
Her throat convulsed around him involuntarily when he hit her gag reflex, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she swallowed deliberately, feeling the way her muscles milked his length with each contraction.
His cockhead kissed the entrance to her stomach, the sheer girth stretching her esophagus obscenely. Saliva dripped down her chin, mixing with the pre-cum smeared across her lips as she took him impossibly deeper, her neck bulging slightly with the outline of his shaft.
The copilot’s groan was raw, unfiltered. His fingers tightened in her hair until her scalp burned. She could feel his balls drawing up, the heavy sac tightening against her chin as his thrusts turned frantic. Her nose pressed into the coarse golden curls at his base, inhaling the musk of his arousal as his cock pulsed violently against her tongue. Then it happened; the first hot spurt hit the back of her throat with enough force to make her eyes water. She swallowed reflexively, her throat working around him as rope after rope of thick cum flooded her stomach.
His hips jerked erratically, fucking her mouth through his release as she milked him dry with each contraction of her throat. The taste was overwhelming, but she sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks until his thighs trembled. His cock swelled impossibly thicker, the veins standing in stark relief as another wave of cum surged from his slit. She took it all, her lips sealed tight around his base as his spent painted her insides. Drool and pre-cum dripped from her chin, her throat distending slightly with each thick pulse.
Cecilia pulled back slowly, letting his softening cock slip from her lips with an obscene pop. Her tongue swiped across her bottom lip, gathering the last remnants of his release as she smirked up at him. The copilot’s chest heaved, his uniform shirt clinging to sweat-slicked skin. She could see his pulse hammering in his throat, his hazel eyes still glazed with lust.
“That,” she purred, rising to her feet with feline grace, “was just the pre-flight check.” Her fingers traced the wet stain on his trousers, proof of her handiwork, before snapping her own slacks back into place. Her pussy throbbed, still swollen and sensitive, not a drop of the copilot’s leaked from her cunt.
The cockpit smelled like sex but Cecilia didn’t care. The altitude hold alarm chimed softly, snapping the copilot back to reality. His fingers trembled as he readjusted the yoke, his gaze flicking between the instrument panel and Cecilia’s still-unbuttoned collar.
She arched an eyebrow as she deliberately licked her fingers clean. “Problem, First Officer?” she teased, her voice dripping with honeyed amusement. His jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening around the controls. She could see the exact moment he realized she wasn’t done with him yet.
Her pussy throbbed, still stretched and slick, but it was the dull ache between her cheeks that intrigued her. Ten inches was a lot to swallow, front and back. She shifted subtly, feeling the copilot’s load trickle deeper inside her womb, her slacks clinging uncomfortably to her damp thighs. The layover hotel tonight would have silk sheets, room service, and, most importantly, no witnesses. She pictured him bending her over the minibar, her asshole fluttering around the same thick cock that had just rearranged her insides. Her nipples stiffened at the thought, rubbing deliciously against the damp fabric of her bra.
The copilot’s hands flexed on the yoke, his knuckles still flushed pink from gripping her hips. Cecilia reached over, tracing the tense line of his forearm with a gloved fingertip. “Eyes on the runway, First Officer,” she murmured, her voice smoke-rough from swallowing him whole. “Unless you’d rather I take over?”
Her thumb pressed into his pulse point, feeling the rabbit-fast beat beneath his skin. The plane banked slightly as his attention wavered, the autopilot compensating with a soft whir. She smirked. He was wound tighter than a turbine engine, his cock twitching against his thigh at the barest touch.
Outside, storm clouds gathered like an audience, lightning flickering in the distance. Cecilia rolled her shoulders, the starched fabric of her shirt rasping deliciously against her oversensitive nipples. The copilot’s gaze flicked down just for a heartbeat, but it was enough. She unclipped her headset, letting it dangle around her neck as she leaned close enough for her breath to ghost over his ear. “Twelve knots crosswind,” she whispered, lips brushing his lobe. “Think you can keep us steady?” Her hand slid lower, fingertips skating over the damp spot on his slacks where he’d leaked for her. The plane dipped again, harder this time, as his hips jerked involuntarily.
Tower instructions crackled through the static, but neither heard them. The runway lights blurred into streaks as they descended, the copilot’s grip on the controls white-knuckled. Cecilia watched his throat work, the way his pulse hammered against his collar. Her own thighs clenched around nothing, still throbbing from being split open. The landing gear shuddered as it deployed, the mechanical whine drowned out by the wet sound of her shifting in her seat; her slacks clinging obscenely to her pussy juice.
Customs was a haze of stiff nods and perfunctory stamps. Their luggage never arrived not that they cared. The hotel elevator doors hadn’t even closed before he had her pinned against the mirrored wall, his mouth hot on her throat. Cecilia arched into him, her pilot’s cap knocked askew as his knee parted her thighs. His hands found her breasts through the starched shirt, thumbs circling her nipples until the fabric grew damp.
“Room key,” she gasped, biting his earlobe. “Now.”
The suite smelled of starch and distant cigarettes. Cecilia barely registered the king-sized bed before he spun her around, his palm landing sharp on her ass through the slacks. The smack echoed off the marble bathroom tiles.
“You like that, Captain?” he growled, fingers hooking into her waistband. She answered by bending over the minibar, presenting herself like a runway model at final call. His zipper sounded like a guillotine.
Her slacks peeled away wetly, the fabric sticking where his cum had begun leaking down her inner thighs. The copilot’s breath hitched. Her asshole winked at him, still fluttering from being stretched around his fingers mid-flight. He spat into his palm, slicking his cock with a crude stroke that made her clit ache. Ten inches looked obscene glistening in the lamplight, thicker now with the dark flush of renewed arousal.
Cecilia braced against the minibar, her wedding ring scraping the vodka bottles as he nudged her spit-slicked rim.
“Don’t—” she hissed, then gasped as he sheathed himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
Her scream bounced off the hotel mirrors, her spine bowing as he reshaped her from the inside out. The copilot’s hips met her cheeks with a wet smack, his balls slapping against her swollen pussy where his cum still leaked. Cecilia’s fingers scrambled for traction on the minibar door, her nails leaving crescent moons in the laminate. Every nerve ending fired at once. The burn, the stretch, the impossible fullness as her ass milked him deeper. He didn’t give her time to adjust, pounding into her with the same relentless rhythm that had wrecked her cunt at 35,000 feet.
Her asshole clung to him like a silken fist, each withdrawal pulling her rim taut before he slammed back in. The pain bled into pleasure so sharply she sobbed, her thighs shaking as she pushed back to meet his thrusts. The copilot’s hands found her hips, his thumbs pressing bruises into the dimples above her ass as he fucked her harder. She could hear it, the lewd squelch of her body accepting him, the slap of skin echoing off the marble bathroom like applause. Her neglected clit throbbed against nothing, swollen and aching, but the pleasure came from deeper now, radiating outward from where his cock speared her insides.
Cecilia’s reflection in the minibar’s mirrored surface was obscene. Her starched shirt rucked up around her ribcage, her breasts swaying with each brutal impact, her mouth slack around silent screams. The copilot’s wedding ring glinted as he gripped her ponytail, yanking her head back until her spine curved like a runway.
“Look,” he growled, forcing her to meet her own glassy eyes in the mirror. “Watch me wreck you.”
Her ass rippled around his shaft, the stretched rim flushed dark pink where it hugged his base. Drool dripped from her lower lip as he drove into her, the minibar bottles rattling like turbulence warnings.
Pain crested into something molten when he angled deeper, his cockhead grinding against some internal ridge that made her vision strobe white. Her asshole fluttered in erratic spasms, milking him with each withdrawal as if her body couldn’t bear to let him go. She could feel it. His balls tightened against her dripping cunt, heavy with another load. “Gonna paint your insides,” he choked out, his voice raw. Cecilia whimpered, her own neglected clit throbbing in time with each brutal snap of his hips.
His orgasm hit like a sudden pressure drop; his cock pulsing inside her ass with thick, molten spurts that stretched her impossibly fuller. She felt each rope of cum flood her, her inner walls clenching greedily around him as if her body craved the stretch. A broken moan escaped her when his thumb found her clit, pressing just enough to send her crashing into a dry, shuddering climax. Her asshole squeezed him tighter, milking out every last drop until his knees buckled and he collapsed against her, panting.
Her reflection was a erotic, lipstick smeared, shirt twisted around her waist, pupils blown wide with pleasure. The copilot’s cum leaked from her ass in slow, glistening trails, mingling with the mess still dripping from her pussy. She didn’t move, couldn’t, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks.
His teeth grazed her shoulder, possessive. “Still think you’re in charge, Captain?” he murmured. Cecilia’s breath hitched, her ass still fluttering around his softening cock. She opened her mouth to retort, but the minibar mirror rattled as he thrust once more, just to feel her clench.
The pain was exquisite. Her stretched rim burned, her insides tender from the ruthless pounding. Yet when his fingers slid between her thighs, gathering the slick still pooling there, she arched into his touch. His thumb circled her swollen clit, rough and demanding. “You’re not done,” he growled. Cecilia’s nails scraped the minibar as his other hand gripped her hip, forcing her back onto his cock. The stretch was unbearable, her asshole protesting as he hardened inside her again. She whimpered, but her body betrayed her—her inner muscles fluttered, milking him greedily.
His laugh was dark, vibrating against her spine. “Your ass begs better than your mouth.” He punctuated the words with a sharp thrust, his balls slapping against her soaked folds. Cecilia’s vision blurred, pleasure and pain twisted together, her overstimulated nerves alight. Every inch of his cock dragged against her raw insides, the friction igniting sparks behind her eyelids. She could feel him swelling, his pulse thundering against her clenched walls.
“Gonna fill you again,” he promised, his breath hot on her neck. “Until you’re dripping out both holes.”
Her climax hit like a stall warning, sudden, violent, tearing through her with teeth. Her ass spasmed around him, milking his cock with vicious precision. The copilot cursed, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt. His release was scalding, flooding her insides until she felt it seeping past where they were joined. Cecilia’s knees buckled, her body collapsing against the minibar as he held her upright, his cock still pulsing inside her. The mirror fogged with their breath, obscuring the mess they’d made of the room, of each other. His lips brushed her ear.
“Next time,” he promised, “we’ll do this in the cockpit.”
Cecilia smirked, swiping a stray drop of cum from the corner of her swollen lips. The copilot’s pupils dilated at the sight of her tongue darting out to taste it—salty, bitter, perfect. Her knees hit the carpet before he could react, her hands gripping his thighs as she spun him around, shoving him against the minibar. The bottles rattled ominously as she took him into her mouth in one smooth motion, her lips sealing tight around his base. His cock twitched against her tongue, still slick with their combined mess. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard enough to make his toes curl into the carpet.
Her fingers curled around his balls, squeezing just shy of pain as his hips jerked forward. The copilot groaned, his knuckles whitening on the minibar’s edge. She could feel his pulse hammering beneath her lips, his cock thickening with each pass of her tongue. When his breath hitched, the telltale sign, her grip tightened, her nails digging into the sensitive skin of his sac. He swore, his thrusts faltering as pleasure warred with pain. She released him with a wet pop, swirling her tongue around his flared head. “Fuck,” he gasped, his cock glistening with her saliva. “You’re a nympho.”
Cecilia grinned, her lips brushing his shaft as she whispered, “You love it.” Then she took him deep again, her throat opening effortlessly around his girth. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging hard enough to make her moan, the vibration milked a ragged cry from him.
She could taste his pre-cum as she bobbed her head in a relentless rhythm. Each time his breathing shallowed, each time his grip tightened in warning, her hand found his balls, squeezing until he growled her name like a threat. By the fourth edge, his thighs trembled, his cock throbbing against her tongue. She pulled back, her lips slick and swollen.
“Turn around,” she ordered, her voice rough from taking his length. When he hesitated, she nipped his inner thigh—the sharp pain made his hips jerk. The copilot spun, bracing himself against the minibar as Cecilia knelt behind him, her breath hot against his ass. She spat into her palm, the wet sound obscene in the quiet suite.
Her fingers traced his rim, teasing the tight muscle before pressing in, just the tip, just enough to make him tense.
“Relax,” she murmured, her other hand stroking his cock in time with the circling pressure. When he exhaled, she drove two fingers deep, crooking them ruthlessly against his prostate.
His shout rattled the minibar bottles as Cecilia twisted her wrist, fucking him with her fingers while her other hand squeezed his base.
“Now,” she ordered, her voice wrecked. His orgasm ripped through him—his cock jerked violently, thick ropes of cum splattering the minibar mirror as Cecilia milked him dry.
She felt his ass clench around her fingers, his body shuddering as she stroked his prostate through each pulse. His release painted the glass in sticky streaks, dripping down to pool on the laminate below. When he finally slumped forward, spent and trembling, Cecilia withdrew her fingers slowly, admiring the way his rim clung to her knuckles. She brought them to her lips, licking his taste from her skin with a satisfied hum.
The copilot’s breath hitched as he turned his head, catching her gaze in the ruined mirror. Her smile was all teeth. “Still think you’re in charge, Lieutenant?”