He was standing exactly where he said he'd be. He was easy to pick out from the other people waiting curbside at the airport terminal; he stood at least a head taller than most people, and his slim, muscular build and air of relaxed confidence gave him a grace that was uncommon in most men. He was the kind of person that people always ask for directions. I glanced at my watch. I already knew I was 10 minutes late, but it seemed like the thing to do.
I had taken too much time getting ready for his arrival. I glanced at myself in the rear view mirror. I was what my grandmother used to call "of a certain age," and even though I knew my body was what men I dated called "tight," I still felt insecure about it. I must've appraised myself in the black micro-mini, tight white blouse and ultra-high patent peep-toe pumps (the ones with the ankle strap, he liked those best) for hours in the mirror. Every time I went out without panties I always felt that everyone knew, and in a skirt this short, they just might.
Despite the heat, my makeup was intact. I smoothed my black hair to make sure there were no strays poking out of the chignon I had put it up in (he liked me to be perfect when we met, tidy and put together, so that after he took me I looked as ravished as I felt) and took a deep breath as I pulled up to the curb.
He came around to the driver's side and motioned for me to move over. Not wanting to get out of the car and expose myself to everyone arriving on flight 256 (US Air, out of Chicago) I awkwardly clambered over the gear shift and managed to get in the passenger seat. He regarded my effort, a slight smile on his face.
"I should make you get out of the car and put my bag in the trunk for making me wait for you. Of course, you'd have to bend over to pick it up. Then everyone here could see that gorgeous pussy," he said. He stood with his arms folded, regarding me coolly with his green eyes. I waited a few heartbeats, took a deep breath, smoothed down my too-short skirt and went to open my door.
"No, " he said, "I'll do it myself. You'd probably like that, everyone here looking at you." He moved to the back and I popped open the trunk. After stowing his bag, he returned to the car and got in. He paused for a moment, taking some time to assess me.
"You're such a good girl," he finally said. I blushed with pleasure.
After three weeks of not seeing him, the desire to touch him caused me almost physical pain.
"I am so glad you're home," I said, my voice wavering. "I missed you so much. May I touch you?"
"Of course, baby," he said, and leaned towards me for a kiss. I threw my arms around him, and his lips lightly brushed mine. He saw the disappointment in my face, and laughed. He leaned in for what I thought would be a proper kiss, and instead I felt him thrust his fingers roughly into my pussy. I gasped, and he laughed again. I heard a car horn.
"We'll have more time for this later," he said as he pushed his wet fingers into my mouth. He started to drive.
He relaxed and began to talk about his trip. My pussy ached where he had touched me, and my mouth tasted of my sweet, salty desire. I put my hand on his leg. I said something witty, and he laughed again. I struggled to compose myself. He asked about my cat. I told him a funny story about a friend. He laughed again and took my hand. He passed the usual exit, and took a different one.
"Short cut," he winked.
He pulled off at a gas station. A crew of construction workers were outside talking a break. They were working on expanding the parking lot. They glanced at us disinterestedly and went back to smoking and talking about whatever construction workers talk about. He drove the car past them and parked. I could see an expanse of woods stretching out behind the station. There was no telling from my vantage point how far it went back.
"Get out," he said. "I have something to show you."
I pulled futilely at my skirt and got out of the car. Upon seeing me, the construction crew had decided we warranted more attention. In his loose white linen shirt and perfectly fitted jeans, my lover's casual sensuality was palpable, but it wasn't him they were interested in. I felt their eyes on me as I walked across the lot. He took my hand and pulled me to him. He pressed his lips to my ear. His breath was hot.
"Everyone is looking at you," he said, "you are such a little whore. I should make you suck one of them off. You could go into the bathroom and wait. I'd send them in, one by one. It wouldn't take much convincing them. They're bored and horny. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I held my breath. I would like it. I wouldn't like it. I couldn't answer.
"Tell me what you are," he said. That was easy to answer.
"I'm a dirty whore," I whispered.
"That's right, " he said, straightening up. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I'm not handing you over to a bunch of construction men jacked-up on Red Bull. Not yet anyway. Come on."
He walked into the woods. I followed him. He showed me a little path that led to a hidden grove. There was a single tombstone there.
"Look at the dates," he said. "That pre-dates the Civil War."
"Bury my heart at BP," I said, forgetting about my skirt and bending down to take a closer look. "How did you know this was here?"
"I know this place like the back of my hand, baby," he said lightly. I stood up. He smiled at me.
Suddenly, he was upon me. I cried out with longing as I felt his hands on my body, on my breasts and ass, between my legs. I kissed him, clutching at his body. I ran my hands up and down his back, relishing the closeness of his muscular body. I pushed my hands up his shirt, feeling his smooth, firm stomach. He was so beautiful. He was sucking my nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt. I went lower, feeling his hardness as he pressed his body against me. He let out a little moan as I rubbed his cock through the tough jean fabric. He pulled back and slapped me. I gasped. He smiled.
"You're a greedy little slut," he panted. "Not here. Not yet." He pointed into the woods. "Start walking."
