I make no secret of the fact I wank in airports. The most recent time I did so, I had an extremely hot fantasy, and I knew I wanted to write it up for my blog. It’s changed slightly though, and while writing I’ve had many tangent thoughts about consent, safe sex and aftercare as it relates to this story. I hope, despite this, that it’s still super hot…
There are cuffs around my wrists and ankles. I am spread open and exposed, with at least a dozen people watching as my own come, mixed with two guys’ spunk, drips down my legs.
Never underestimate the ability of two enterprising doms to rig up bondage restraints from solely what they had in their hand luggage. In fact, the fact that my girl had so much in her innocent looking back-pack makes me wonder exactly what kind of evening I’d have been in for anyway and if it would have been worse (or better? – I wasn’t sure) than my current predicament.
You see, our flight had been delayed. We were heading to Budapest to celebrate our anniversary – not of the first time she spanked me, or the first time we fucked, but the first time we both admitted that we liked each other as much as we liked the sex. She’d been whispering filth in my ear as we checked in and shuffled through security, because she likes to see me flush red and try to hide my embarrassment. When we met a friend of ours, Bea, my girl’s glee at showing off her sub’s shame only increased – as did my blushes as they discussed the last time they’d co-topped me.
Distracted by their (successful) attempts to turn me on, it wasn’t until a crackly PA system announced that our flight was delayed that I noticed that a number of flights had been delayed and cancelled. I looked at the television screens, each one sharing news about bad weather. I turned to my girl, but she was already grinning evilly, and whispering to Bea. I could feel the arousal building as she turned to me, certain that she was about to suggest something especially filthy.
“So many stranded travellers. Isn’t it a shame that they don’t have a toy to play with?”
I’d like to say if I wasn’t aroused already, I’d have protested much more. As it was though, shame mixed with cunt-clenching hotness, and I went along all too eagerly with their plan. I was stripped and tied up. They made fun of the wetness already visible on my cunt, but also told me that I was a good girl – well, a good toy – for being ready to be used.
My girl leaned in close to kiss my cheek to check I’m ok. When I confirmed that I am, very much so, she grinned and whispered in my ear that even if I wasn’t so wet, she would still let people fuck me. That’s what pretty sluts are for, she told me, to be used as holes to be fucked.
While Bea finger-fucked me, my girl started to offer my services to the restless people in the departure longue, many of whose attention had already – unsurprisingly – been attracted by the sight of a naked woman being bound and spread. Hearing my girlfriend sell my services as a fuck toy and a set of desperate slutty holes made me want to hide my face, but Bea moved behind me, slipping an arm around my neck and forcing me to keep looking at her. I closed my eyes, but Bea slapped my inner thigh, and everyone laughed at my yelp of pain… meaning that she quickly moved both hands to my nipples, with the intention of making me whimper for their amusement.
Their hands are all over me as I’m used, comforting pats and strokes and murmured good girls. But there are also sly pinches and spanks, because my girl knows that the pain will make my cunt wetter. I almost missed Bea’s characteristic riding crop as the first guy fucked me: his hands on my hips as he thrust eagerly, his cock hitting my g-spot. I could have come, if my girl wasn’t by my ear, telling me that I didn’t have permission to orgasm. The second volunteer fucked me more forcefully, though less quickly, and with Bea kissing my neck I’m soon begging to be allowed to come.
I was given permission, and my orgasm left me breathless as he finished inside me. He tucked his dick back into his jeans and walked away with a satisfied grin, and as I stare at his back I can feel come running down my legs. Everyone’s eyes are blushing, and I’m scarlet with shame, but my cunt betrays me. It’s already desperate for another cock, greedy for more orgasms.
“Everyone’s looking at you, babe. I’m sure they’re all wondering how many much more you can take. They all want to have their turn filling your cunt… or maybe even your arse. Do you think you could take two at once?”
Bea is helping the next horny, delayed passenger – a woman with short pink hair and freckles – into a strap-on harness. The pink leather looks extremely sexy against her dark skin. She squeezes my boobs and teases my clit, and grins while she does it because she knows she’s being too gentle, and I want her to fuck me roughly. She’s lining up the lesbian-pride-flag-coloured dildo against the entrance to my cunt when the PA system crackles into life again.
“Due to a turn in the weather, we are happy to announce that the delayed flights to Budapest, Amsterdam and Belfast International are now ready for boarding. That’s the delayed fourteen-thirty-five to Budapest, the fifteen-oh-five to…”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on a plane next to my girlfriend, the only sign of the vigorous fucking I’d just had being the come dripping into the gusset of my knickers. She’s holding my hand, and I’m resting my head against her shoulder. As the flight attendant goes through the safety procedures, she rubs my wrists and feeds me squares of chocolate, as well as giving me the affirmation and good girls that are part of our aftercare routine. In return, I sleepily tell her how much fun I had, and once the plane has taken off I snuggle closer.
Just as I’m about to fall asleep, I see a string of numbers scribbled in black marker on the inside of my girlfriend’s wrist. I grab it, examining the numbers, and look up at her questioningly.
“Oh yes,” she grins down at me. “The girl who didn’t get to fuck you really wants to. She’s given me her number, so we can talk about arranging a time to play when we’re home. Do you think you’d like that?”
“Absolutely – I’d love that. But darling, can I please nap for the rest of this flight? I’m sure you have more devious things planned for me, and I’d really like to be awake for them…”
She kisses my forehead, and I burrow into her shoulder again.
“Yes, babe, sleep. You’re going to need your rest…”
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.