He chuckled. “It’s a safety violation, of course. And this? It could be a code. Suspicious activity. And you’re the perfect cover, all innocent-looking. But you aren’t innocent, are you? Not if you’re sending men texts like this.”
I looked down, ashamed. He reached behind him and produced a strip of fabric. A sleep mask! He spun me around. I barely had time to register that my mouth was free—to beg, to scream—when he had wrapped the cloth around my mouth like a gag. He tied a knot with efficient, practiced movements. My hands came next, trapped behind my back and handcuffed with more fabric. Had he prepared for this?
Or was he always prepared to capture a girl in the backroom of wherever? I struggled, yanking my hands, testing the ties.
“Shh, stop that.” He leaned in close, hands on my hips. His mouth was right against my ear, whispering. Soothing. “Don’t fight me. I only want to have some fun with you. To use you for a little while. You don’t mind, do you? We both know you want it too.”
He reached around and unzipped my jeans. His hand reached inside bluntly, rudely, beneath my panties as if he had every right to be there, in the folds of my sex where the dampness gave me away.
His breath caught. “Oh, that’s nice. Very nice.”
His forefinger dipped lower into a pool of wetness that grew and grew. I imagined a dark stain on my panties. Would it leak through to my jeans? Would everyone know? He drew the moisture up and over my clit, drawing circles that made me jerk in his hold.
He pinched my clit in reprimand. “Take it. Just accept what you have coming and it won’t hurt. Much.”
His other hand drew my shirt up, baring my belly and chest to the cool air. My nipples tightened beneath the lace cups of my bra. It hadn’t been a comfortable choice for a long plane ride, but I’d wanted the lingerie to be a surprise. I’d imagined undressing for Hunter with the skyline of Paris behind me. Not like this, bound and gagged. Not with cruel fingers shoving the thin lace down, exposing my breasts in the small dark room.
I glanced back to the curtain. Would anyone come here? I doubted anything could be heard, especially not my whimpers or his groans, but maybe a flight attendant would catch us. Would they stop him? They’d have to. And they’d see me like this, half naked. Worse than naked, my clothes bunched and pinching, framing the most shameful parts of me.
“Then you’d better get me off fast.” He must have read my mind.
I hung my head, resigned to my fate.
That must have pleased him. He turned me around and pushed me down. The floor was some kind of springy mat, surprisingly comfortable on my knees. I could barely see him in the lack of light. He loomed in front of me, my entire world. But I could hear him. His harsh breathing. The rasp of a zipper.
He didn’t even have to say it. I want to kiss you everywhere. I’d written my own debasement.
My mouth and throat were dry when he yanked the gag out of the way. The fleece fabric had taken all the moisture away—but he put it back. With his fingers first, shoving them in, deep enough so I gagged. Then the spongy head of a cock pressed against my lips. I’d been trained well for this. Without a thought, my lips parted, letting him in. He was already slippery, salty, precum coating his cock. The taste of him coated my tongue as he slid deeper.
He cradled the back of my neck, his hands gentle as he held me still for his thrusts. He started shallowly, letting me get used to his rhythm, his size. His hands tightened in my hair. He pressed in deeper, hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, choking, jerking my head away and struggling against the bonds on my wrists as he continued to press deep.
“Don’t whine. It’s only going to get worse.”
And God, he was right. Because then he started to move, fucking my face in a relentless rhythm. I couldn’t time my breaths or make a sound. I couldn’t even think about stopping him. My world narrowed to his cock in my mouth. I became nothing more than something warm and wet for him to come inside. It didn’t even matter if I struggled or passed out as long as he could use me like this.
Everything blurred. I almost didn’t register when he pulled away. My eyes were flooded with tears. My throat felt raw. He didn’t have to put the gag back in and he knew it. The last thing I wanted was for someone to find me like this. If the French officials minded my dirty texts, they’d definitely mind me naked and shivering in the back of the plane.
“I was going to come in your mouth, but I can’t.” He sounded almost apologetic. “I have to get inside that pretty cunt. It was just too wet. I need to feel it around my dick.”
I blushed furiously. Too wet. As if I’d brought this on myself.
With a gentle shove, he pitched me forward until my face was pressed against the floor. What had seemed soft under my knees felt unyielding against my cheek. The smell of rubber suffused me. How many stewardesses had walked back and forth in their sensible pumps, never knowing what would happen here? How many would continue to do so, stepping on the salt of my tears?
A rough tug pulled my jeans all the way down to my knees. Then he was kneeling behind me. Not between my legs, but with his knees outside mine. I was hogtied, with my hands still tied and my legs locked together by the jeans, unable to even protect myself against what was coming.
“Wait,” I said.
He pressed his cock against my opening and slid home. I bucked against him, twisting away. Even on the inside, my muscles squeezed, trying to push him out. Useless, all of it. He may as well have been a part of the airplane itself, machinery that couldn’t be moved by human strength. Even his cock inside me felt more like metal than flesh, hard and invasive.
He groaned. “That’s right. Milk me. Make me come.”
Those words. I shut my eyes tight, unable to face him—unable to face the floor or the darkness as my body obeyed him. I couldn’t stop milking him. I couldn’t stop making him come, even though I kind of wanted to. That would only prolong this, but I tried anyway. To relax myself, to be passive. But my muscles clenched hard around him, obeying him instead of me, until he gasped and hot liquid bathed my inner walls.
He jerked over me, rocking himself through his orgasm. Even then, I couldn’t stop clenching and clenching. It wasn’t just for him, I realized. With horror, I acknowledged the feeling inside me. Pure, unstoppable arousal. My cunt wasn’t trying to push him out; I was trying to pull him in, deeper, harder, so I could get off too. I felt exposed and dirty, more than the forced blowjob could have done. My own forbidden excitement was the true embarrassment, shining a light on things better left in the dark.
“Shhh.” He was at my ear again, soothing me. Only then did I realize I was crying. Not loose, helpless tears, but quiet sobs that racked my body. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be like this. The shame would never leave me alone, not ever.
He petted my back, stroking me. His other hand slipped underneath to my clit. He didn’t circle me this time. Two fingers slid on either side of it, holding still.