Lie Father Lie Son

As Stan maneuvered his way home, the wind had been gusting at an un-clocked speed, throwing snow at his windshield faster than the wipers could flush it away. It was almost 8:30 pm. The forty-five minute commute had extended into well over an hour. As he dodged the snow plows and salt trucks, he thought of the moment he met Xenia, on a flight from Tucson.

On that day, on a flight from a business trip, he complained about his Martini. The Martini was too heavy on the Vermouth. Being bumped up from business-class to first-class, he expected better.

"This is too dry," he said to her, barely seeing anything but her form, not her face.

"Too dry?" she replied, bending down only slightly to respond. "Then perhaps you shouldn't drink Martini's."

She walked away from him and attended to another passenger, directly behind him, then another, and another, making her way to the back of the front segment of the plane. When she made her way back up, he quickly touched her. His hand was on her ass. The fabric of her suit was somewhat rough, but the smooth roundness of her cheek was evident.

"Excuse me," he said.

She gave him a sharp look. He withdrew his hand.

"Excuse me," he said again, "But this Martini IS too dry. I'd like another."

Xenia looked down at him slyly, one side of her full lips turning upward, creating a deceptively innocent dimple at the beginning of her cheek.

"Sir, one shouldn't ask for what one cannot handle." She took the Martini from his hand, with a gentle, but firm snatch. The glass was upright, but somehow, a bit of the drink spilled into Stan's lap.

In a manner that was more accommodating that expected, the tall, dark woman squatted beside him, reached over his lap to pick up the napkin that had come with his drink, then attempted to absorb the dampness from his lap, paying particular attention to the zipper area of his slacks. The dabbing turned to a brisk rubbing.

All Stan would allow himself to see was her head, wearing the small, angular hat that all the female flight attendants wore. He held his back rigid as she rubbed-- as if to hold back his rousing excitement-- but instead, his cock was became rigid as well.

And just at the moment he thought it would break through his pants, she stopped, stood up, abruptly, and said to him, "I don't think you want another Martini, do you?" She was smiling at him. Stan couldn't tell if it was a look of desire or contempt. He spent the rest of his flight trying to figure that out—without a drink.

He was relieved, then, when the flight was over. As he walked briskly through the terminal, he thought he might run to the men's room to relieve what she had started. He didn't think he could wait until he picked up his baggage.

Just as he had spotted the lavatory, he felt an arm grab him.

"You are a naughty, naughty man," the voice whispered in his ear.

It was the flight attendant, Xenia.

Before he could reply, she hooked her arm into his as if it was a polite walk, and pushed him towards the men's room, opened the door, and kicked it closed behind them once they were inside. It wasn't empty. Three men were inside, one washing his hands. The other two rushed out, not liking what they saw.

Perhaps a terrorist attack, or some other underhanded business neither of them wanted a part of.

Xenia dragged Stan into the stall. It was then that Stan got a good look at her. Tall, dark-skinned, somewhat slim, except for the curving bubble of her hips, the muscular legs that even the modest airline uniform couldn't hide.

"This is where you wanted to go, isn't it?" she asked him. She grabbed his balls as she said it.

Stan said nothing. He felt her slim fingers undo his zipper and take out his cock.

"Did you want to take a piss?" she asked, in a way that was more disgusting in that her tone was so dignified.

Who was this woman, he wondered. After being in Tucson, had he lost his usual overbearing demeanor, that this strange black woman could suddenly diminish him to a meek, incidental tool of her own will?

She was holding his penis over the toilet bowl. Her hand was warm, slightly clammy. He looked down at it, his pale penis with the reddening tip, and the deep salmon beige of her palm. Her fingernails were conservatively manicured, painted bright red. Stan swooned. She held him firmly by his cock.

"What? You can't take a piss?" she asked. "Why not?"

"I- I- I can't..."

"Oh speak up!" she spit out.

"I can't pee...I need to- need to..."

Xenia held her head back and laughed. "I picked you because I thought you were a strong man. Don't tell me you don't have the balls to say what you want now?"

Xenia let go of Stan's cock and raised her skirt. It was lined and slid up her body with ease. She spread her legs. She was wearing delicately laced white panties, no hose. With her dark fingers, she slipped the crotch of the panties to the side, and Stan caught a glimpse of her mound. Dark curly hairs, cropped short, shiny, the outer lips of her cunt pouting, invitingly. She parted her pussy lips, having her hips shifted out a bit, just enough so he could see. Stan's cock stiffened. She held her clit between her fingers and slid them up and down, with her clit in the middle. She gasped quietly. The fleshy, vermilion muscle was swelling. As she rubbed her clit in that manner, she allowed her fingertips to reach the entrance of her vagina, closer with each rub, until the red glossy nails sunk into the wet hole, sliding back out, making the nails glisten with her own lubricant.

She was lost now, her fingers disappearing into her hole, coming out to rub her clit. Her head was pressed against the cold, marbled wall. She was hissing and moaning quietly, while Stan stood there, cock standing turgid, pants still buckled around his waist.

He continued to watch, not touching himself, transfixed by this black woman pleasuring herself in front of him. He felt his cock throbbing, but his eyes were glued to her body-- her face, and her fingers, and where they were probing. The pulsing of blood through his dick seemed to match the rhythm of her fingers, moving in and out, in and out of that beautifully dark pussy.

Then she shuddered, one last gasp. He watched as liquid began to gather at her fingers, stuffed into her pussy, then, as she pulled her fingers out, fluid began trickle from her cunt. He lost it. He grabbed her by her waist, flung her from the back wall of the stall to the side. He pinned her to the sidewall with his own hips until he got his pants unbuckled and down to the top of his thighs. He thrust his fingers into her, feeling her wetness, the viscous fluid running over his hand. Then, in one swift motion, he replaced his hands with his cock. She let out a short squeal, which made Stan smile, but he was too busy to enjoy the brief response of submission. He pounded into her slippery slit, with strong upward strokes, appealing to the slight bend in his cock and the slant of her hot tunnel. He felt the tip of his cock scrape against the walls of her pussy and it encouraged him to fuck her deeper, harder, until he could elicit another scream. She wrapped her legs around him, let her face fall against his ear.

"Fuck me, you bastard...you dirty white bastard...fuck me..." she said, at first demanding, then moaning.

This gave him courage. He hadn't talked like that before, not to another woman, and certainly not during sex. But he was intoxicated. He took the cue.

"Take that cock," he growled, pounding up into her, feeling her juices slather on his thighs. "You dirty slut...you dirty black slut..."

She opened her jacket and blouse, while he had her pinned to the wall with his cock deep inside her. Stan spotted the thick brown breast bulging out of the lacy white bra. With one hand, he ripped it down, the back clasp giving in easily, and falling to the floor. The pointed, crinkled nipple was a darker shade of brown than her skin, which, even in that moment, fascinated Stan. It bounced and prodded playfully against his face as he fucked, until he'd had enough of its bouncing and put his lips around it. The minute his mouth made contact with Xenia's tit, she shuddered, and arched her back-- which shoved her body firmly down onto Stan's cock so that no matter how he tried to thrust out to get a harder thrust in, her cunt wouldn't release him. And then he felt it. A rush of wetness came down on his cock and trickled down his balls. He couldn't tell if she was peeing or cumming.

Stan wanted to continue fucking her, but her stance wouldn't allow it. When she released the grip of her pussy muscles on his dick, she eased him out of her, which was not an easy task, considering how stiff he was. Stan started to protest, but before he could, this beautiful dark lady had his cock in her mouth, and his balls in her hand. Her other hand was on his ass. As she sucked his cock, he thought of how it was her juices she was tasting, swallowing. He swooned. His wife would never do this. Whoever this woman was, the overbearing flight attendant, he would have to keep her around somehow.

While his mind wandered, and his cock was being tended to, he didn't notice that Xenia's fingers of her left hand had parted his ass cheeks. Without realizing it, he had accommodated the action. She was tickling his anus while sucking him off.

Then Stan felt an increased suction of her mouth on his cock. Every time she moved her mouth up so that only the tip of his cock was inside it, she sucked hard, while letting her tongue move around just underneath the head. Two or three times of this, and Stan was about to lose it. At the last hard suck of his dick tip, Stan knew he was going to let go, he held her head, ready to shove the whole length of his cock as far into her mouth as he could, ready to shove it down her throat, if possible.

But at that moment, he also felt a fullness in his ass. She sucked hard one last time, the pressure mounted in his ass, and he suddenly felt a shiver through his spine. Now he was the one shuddering, shuddering as he couldn't remember ever doing so, not since the time he first masturbated as a boy.

Stan groaned loudly as he pumped load after load of his cum into her hot mouth. The full feeling in his ass made the pleasure excruciatingly intense. He kept pumping her mouth, and crying out, spasmodically, unaware of anything— most notably that they were in a stall in the men's room.

From that moment on, Stan met with Xenia—in hotels, in airport terminals, even in flight in the small space of the washroom. She had a way of dominating and accommodating him that intrigued him. It kept him coming for more.

So when his neighbor—an old crotchety lady who always complained about his son and his son's friends being on their lawn—had passed away, he arranged for Xenia to lease the house. And she obliged. And now Stan not only looked forward to going away on business trips, but, when she was on leave, he looked forward to arriving home.