8 AM. Airport hotel suite overlooking the runways. Night cut short. Head throbs. Pop Doliprane. She’s up, no noise. Kitchenette table set: coffee, toast, fruits. Note: ‘Off to work. Call later. Leave dishes, I’ll sort tonight.’ Didn’t spill my breakfast prefs. Thought hits: ‘She really wants adopting.’ Scarf it down. Shower quick. Zip suitcase half-packed. Swipe keycard. Corridor echoes with cart wheels and plane roars. Elevator dings to lobby.
Phone vibrates. Aline. ‘Hey love, sleep well? Breakfast OK?’ ‘Perfect, babe. Where you at?’ ‘Outside interview spot. Needed your voice first.’ ‘Sweet.’ ‘Gotta go. Love youuuu!’ What the fuck? Trap alert. Text Pierre: lunch? He OKs, with Murielle. Fine.
The Layover Hook
Morning drags. Can’t focus. Puzzle pieces missing. Noon, Chinese dive on rue des Monges. Cool vibe, cheap eats. Boss lady nods: they’re here. Join table. Server pitches daily special. Handshakes, cheek kisses. Dive in: ‘What’s the setup?’ Murielle squirms, Pierre dodges eyes. Drop divorce bomb. How’s Aline snag internship near me, not big city? ‘Status?’ Pierre grins. ‘She bed you yet?’ Stunned. ‘Sucked me twice last night. Perplexed.’ ’19 months I got zilch. You score double in one night. We’re both cucked, bro.’ Rants on: dead marriage, her night calls of ‘Eric,’ wedding night slip-up.
Server interrupts for orders. Murielle ribs: ‘Ginger dessert or you won’t last tonight.’ Pierre: divorce her idea, knew of Murielle, plotted internship, even nanny lined up. Kid Florian later, not to spook me. ‘Why you call?’ ‘She OKs Murielle at house.’ Entrées land. Murielle: photos show her eyeing you forever. Married Pierre for jealousy. Baby flop. Now tests couple fit with kid. ‘Tonight, full menu. You crave her too.’ Pierre: ‘Swapped partners. You had Murielle, I had Aline.’
Aline calls. Lunch news? Expected. Wants group meet after our talk. Big kiss, hangs sans Pierre chat. To Murielle: ‘Maybe not full tonight, but clear air.’
Transit Eruption
Before 7 PM, back. Her Renault in lot. Balcony: she bronzes, planes thundering. Suitcase by bed reminds: flight dawn tomorrow. Rush her. She lunges, devours lips. ‘Lunch with Pierre?’ ‘And Murielle.’ ‘All in! Spill?’ ‘Aline, fuck talk. Missed shot two years back. Timid fool. Now? You forever. Family. Mad love.’ Can’t finish. She tackles. We crash carpet. Endless kiss, gasping.
‘Wished you’d said then. No fuckups.’ Apologize to Pierre, save friendship. Florian soon? ‘Cool by me. Murielle handles him now.’ Calls her. Chat drags. 8 PM, she beams: ‘Murielle keeps him till we settle, buy kid stuff.’ ‘Works.’ ‘Repaint nursery?’ ‘Carte blanche.’ ‘Pizza? Quick, more night left.’
Admire her: 5’7″, 110 lbs, slender. Tiny tits, girl hips, wasp waist. Platinum fine hair, sparse blond pubes, invisible fuzz everywhere. No shave needed. Devours food, lively smiles, moues melt me. Chat us, kid, sex. No pill yet, condoms bought. ‘Play my ass? Love anal.’ Back ride: her expert BJ edges me whole way.
Suite orgy. Enemas first. Her tight ass heaven. She intros small dildo to mine. Positive? Promises strap-on. Her anal sensitivity nuts: screams, shakes, explosive cum. Loses control, pisses jets. Wild, scary hot. Bed against her, suitcase ready. Wild TGV ride, unknown stop. Flight looms. Strap-on awaits. Double glazing for yells. Bathtub fucks? Her pipes rule me. Keycard tomorrow. Carnal blur till takeoff.