A Taste of Pleasure (12 page)

She pretended to read but her excited breathing was a dead giveaway that he was beginning to affect her sexually. As the plane was clearing for takeoff, she had that feeling she loved in the pit of her tummy. She polished off her wine and continued to halfheartedly read. After a few minutes she felt his touch on her leg. She glanced over at him as he moved her skirt up higher on her leg. Still holding his newspaper skillfully with one hand for privacy, he eased the other between her legs and slid his fingers up to touch her wetness. She reclined farther in her seat, opening her legs to invite him in with full access. As
the plane climbed toward the heavens, she was ascending from within to cloud nine.

“You naughty girl, wearing no panties,” he whispered. “You should be punished.”

“And you should be my punisher.”

He moved the newspaper so that she could see the effect she was having on him. He was so hard he was ready to burst from his pants. She reached over to taunt him, touching his bulge.

“Mmm,” she groaned.

As the plane finally leveled out at thirty thousand feet, the lights came on and the pilot informed passengers that they were free to move about the cabin.

“Why don't you visit the restroom,” Deacon suggested. “I'll be along in a minute. I will knock once, pause, then knock twice so you know it's me.”

She agreed and rose from her seat, adjusting her skirt back to its rightful place. The elevation, along with a bit of turbulence, alcohol, and steamy lust, had her head whirling. She held on to the backs of the seats to balance herself as she made her way to the restroom. In the bathroom, she freshened up as she awaited his arrival. Soon she heard a knock, then a pause, followed by another two knocks. She opened the door and eased back to let him in.

He stroked her hair and kissed her eyes deeply and ravenously. He picked her up, placing her on the small sink. As he moved down her neck to her breasts, she threw her head back. He took his time kissing and tonguing her all the way down, his warm, wet tongue leaving cool trails behind. He stood back a moment to drink her in and she hungrily reached for his belt and unbuckled it. His hardness popped out and her mouth watered to taste him. Panting, she tried to lean down to reach him, but it would have taken a contortionist in the confines
of the tiny room, and he wouldn't even allow her to try. He restrained her, resumed his torturous kisses, working his way down to the tops of her thigh-highs, running his tongue along her thighs and finally reaching her button. He licked so hard that she almost came, but then he stopped abruptly.

“No, precious, you'll have to wait like I have to.” He smiled as he turned around to use the toilet, and then he exited, leaving her discontented. She was stunned at his cruel and arrogant game. She jumped down from the sink, used the toilet, and wiped away the wetness he'd instigated. She was beyond frustrated as she left the bathroom.

When she returned to her seat, he was sitting by the window, so she sank into the aisle seat. She wanted to say so many things, but she bit her lip in exasperation and crossed her legs. He could see she was irate, and he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“It's a long flight. We'll have plenty of chances,” he said with a slight snicker in his voice. His whispering breath sent chills down to her wetness, but she shifted in her chair slightly away from him, her lips protruding in a petulant pout as she sulked. She grabbed her book and continued ignoring him.

Before long, he leaned over to the controls and clicked off the light. The sun had disappeared, and the darkness offered some comfort and privacy. He reached over and took her book away, replacing it with a section of his newspaper. He then reached under the paper and pulled her skirt up just enough for his hand to touch her hotness. His finger touched her, opening her lips up. He felt her wetness and smiled. His little finger massaged her, and for some reason his touch catapulted her back to the memory of when she was four years old. And when her uncle touched her there on top of her panties and filled her with feelings she was too young to understand. She
shooed away the evil thoughts of her first sexual encounter and brought herself back to the reality of her sensuous moment.

She closed her eyes as Deacon continued to tease her this way, her mind, her thoughts, everything was between her legs. His touch was so intense and she moved a little so he would be right where she wanted him, but again, he pulled his hand away. He leaned over.

“Now it's time to use the bathroom again, and this time, I'll go first.”

He left and she soon followed behind. She tapped on the door and he pulled her into the small cubicle. He had his hardness out in his hand, and with one swift move he placed her on the sink again and entered her wetness with it. She moaned.

“Please don't leave me until I come,” she whispered. He smiled that innocuous smile of his and pushed hard into her while holding her with his arms to keep her from falling into the sink. She wrapped her legs around him as he continued to take her. As she felt her climax approaching, she kissed him. He held her close, as she tightened herself ready for the event and moaned softly, “I'm coming, I'm coming.” He groaned, but then withdrew again. He placed her on the toilet, washed his hands, and left her there.

What kind of man does this?
She wondered how he could bring her to the brink of desire and then leave her frustrated. She composed herself as best she could and left the bathroom. Upon arriving at her seat she walked in front of him and sat down at the window again. He handed her the newspaper again, but this time she threw it on the floor. She was furious. She wanted to come and she was tired of playing his ridiculous games. She moped as he flashed that tantalizing smile at her again. He patted her lap and continued to read, whispering in a melodic tone, “All in good time.”

She squirmed in her seat for a few minutes, thinking over the situation, then got up from her seat and marched back to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet and placed her fingers on her button. She was in control, not him, massaging her sex and thinking of him and his hardness at the same time. She rubbed it until she felt the climax approaching. It felt so wonderful, just a few more rubs and she would be able to resist him . . . but there was a tap on the door. Thinking it was someone who had to use the toilet, she got up, flushed, and opened the door. Deacon pushed her back, turned her around and bent her over the sink, lifting her skirt with the same force he'd used in the conference room. He penetrated her fiercely, then took it out, reaching around to touch her swollen, aching button. He massaged her and filled her with his finger at the same time. Holding her tight, he pushed deep inside her again, filling her with his hardness. After a few slow and taunting pushes, he sped up and she exploded with such force, her whole body shook as he emptied himself inside her. He cleaned up, patted her on the butt, bent down and kissed her on the neck, and left. She couldn't move. She was numb, relaxed, and completely spaced out.
Did that really just happen?
She freshened up and left the room, amid the whispers of the other first-class passengers who by now had figured out what had just taken place. Chin held high, she waved them off with a smug flip of her hair as she found her way back to her seat.

Deacon continued to read the paper, never glancing up to look at her, but he did slip his hand into her lap. After a few minutes, he whispered in her ear.

“Nice one, thank you.” He leaned over and kissed her, and the last remaining onlookers finally turned their heads. She felt her desire slowly rekindling. He smiled and went back to his paper. She opened up the book, but couldn't get him out of her
mind. The way he teased and touched her, his smell, and the wonderful hardness that always left her wanting more . . . her mind refused to think about anything else. She tried to read but realized it was ridiculous. She couldn't focus on anything but him. She looked back over at him and he was sleeping.

She waited a short while, then slowly got up and went back to the bathroom, where his scent still lingered. She sat on the toilet and rubbed herself, trying to recapture the essence of the moments before. A tap on the door interrupted her. She got up and opened the door. It was Deacon again. He took her in his arms, kissing her, pulling her skirt up as he unzipped his pants and entered her once more. He held her tight in his arms as he moved her over to the sink, where he took possession of her without stopping. He kissed her passionately, moving his hands all over her body, sucking on her breasts, cupping her face, kissing her until she didn't know where she was. All she cared about was the moment. She felt herself getting ready to climax, she prayed, don't pull out . . . don't stop . . . and he didn't. They came together. He held her close, kissing her and whispering in her ear. She looked into his eyes, so warm and wonderful that she cherished the closeness they both felt.

After returning to their seats, they were parched and famished. They ordered some wine and snacks from the attendant as they chatted over what to do when they landed. Deacon suggested dinner in the hotel dining room. She agreed and tingled with delight as she imagined a wonderful night in Paris together.

Their hotel, Chez Vous, was beautifully decorated in Louis XVI style, including the large crystal chandelier hanging heavily in the lobby. After she checked in, she unpacked and carefully chose her outfit for the evening. It was early morning in Paris, so she took a hot bath, put on her fluffy terry robe, and
slid into bed for some well-deserved rest. Her alarm rang about 6:00 p.m., and she got up feeling refreshed. She dressed in her short silky navy skirt, white clinging top, navy thigh-highs, and high navy boots, then left to meet the man of her dreams.

They met in the lobby as he escorted her to the restaurant, which was close to the hotel.

“I thought we were going to eat in the hotel's restaurant,” she said as they left the building.

“I had another thought,” he mused.

They had a wonderful meal, and he never even made a pass at her the entire time, much to her disappointment.

“Oh, I am so full,” she said, pressing her hand to her mouth as she looked at him. “I think I'd like to walk off this wonderful dinner. Would you like to join me? I'm going to my favorite bridge, Pont Neuf.”

He smiled and said, “No thanks, I have something else to take care of.” He kissed her on the forehead, and before she knew it, he was gone. She swished around, holding her head high, and she walked out of the restaurant alone.

The night was breezy. She felt good about herself as her boot heels clicked along the cobblestone street. She caught a reflection of herself in the windows as she closed in on the bridge, her short navy silk skirt moving with her body, her mid-white top clinging to her large bosom, her hair flowing past her shoulders in the breeze. She felt spectacular on this perfect night. Soon she saw Pont Neuf in the distance and she was enamored. It was her favorite spot in Paris, the ideal place to watch boats and enjoy the scenery. She could linger for hours, admiring the vessels as they passed by, spreading her long legs just wide enough for the air to tickle her down there, stimulating her with chills that traveled across her warm body.

She placed her arms on the ledge and looked down at the
boats going under, wondering if the occupants could see up between her legs. She never wore panties, as they stopped her from feeling the air on her sex. She heard footsteps approaching to the left of her and then they stopped. Her heart also stopped when she smelled the cologne, a familiar fragrance, as it permeated the Parisian air with romance. She smiled as she felt one of his hands on her butt, and the other lifting up her skirt and rubbing between her legs casually. She felt the heat of his legs close to her and his hands on the middle of her back, a face next to hers and breath on her neck as she heard the sound of a zipper. She felt his hardness touching her ass and felt something between her legs. His foot moved her legs apart while his arms reached around her hips, arching her back. He fondled her pit of passion, then with one motion, slid deep inside her. He moved so slowly at first. She moaned at his size, his hardness, and the wonder of the whole dark night. He continued to take her. She threw her head back as he violated her this way. He rubbed her with his talented fingers and moved her as his foot pushed her feet farther apart so he could get into her deeper. His hardness rubbed itself inside her wetness, back and forth it went. Her heart was beating faster. Her head tilted backward but she could not see his face. He rubbed her clit as he took her from behind, touching her sensitive parts and her ass, rubbing her faster, speeding up his assault on her. She felt herself coming and heard his breathing quicken. Harder . . . deeper . . . he tilted her ass up for more penetration of his hardness, her space expanding, welcoming him in as he throbbed and pulsated. His cum hit her walls and ran down her legs. Her juice mixed with his as she felt her knees weaken. She held on to the railing, catching her breath. When she turned to look behind her, no one was there. He was gone. She took out a tissue and wiped her legs clean.

The next night she went back to the bridge, but nobody was there . . . her lover did not return. Deacon had checked out of the hotel and she had no idea where he was, but she smiled with fascination as she pondered their interludes and enjoyed the nautical atmosphere once again.

The time for playing was done, and now it was time for work, the whole purpose for her being in Paris in the first place. She looked polished in a three-piece pinstriped black suit with a pencil skirt, and refined with the addition of a triple strand of pearls, along with black stockings and two-inch knee-high black boots. Just one more meeting, and then she would venture off to Versailles.

The meeting room was gorgeous, all with gold gilded walls, wainscoting, and crystal chandeliers. She looked around the room at all the suits, still looking for Deacon. He was over by a wall, talking with another suit. She recalled their night on the bridge and felt a shiver. She felt all eyes upon her and she knew she was looking good. She participated in the discussion and charmed the group with her knowledge and veracity. After the meeting, she searched for Deacon, but he'd slipped away again.