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CHAPTER TWO
Joanie
Drying my hair in the spacious bathroom of my Dallas hotel room, I stared at my reflection. The big brown eyes, the flushed cheeks.
Was that really me?
The girl with the curly brown hair and curvaceous form?
Could anybody tell I was different?
I guess on the outside, things looked the same. But on the inside, my mind and body were absolutely changed.
Because I’d done it.
I’d enjoyed a man’s cock on a private flight, creaming and mewling as he stroked my clit. I’d come all over his hand as he spurted into my mouth, pouring liters of hot man milk down my throat.
And even now, I could taste that tangy semen. The unmistakable salty taste as I slurped, welcoming the hot fluid into my insides.
How would it feel in another part of me? Dripping from my pussy cavern? Or pulsing into my ass?
WHAT?
My cheeks flared, mouth opening into a shocked O. Because how could I think this? How could I have these dirty thoughts? It was wrong. So, so wrong. This wasn’t the Joanie I knew at all. And yet my imagination went wild, every and any fantasy suddenly up for grabs. Mr. Dawson’s fingers in my sweet channel as I cried out, clutching those big shoulders. His massive cock burrowing deep into my pretty pink place. That giant cock in my ass, slow and steady as I cried out, resisting the stretch.
Oh god. When did I get so dirty? I’ve seen porn, I admit, on my laptop. But that’s TV. Those are paid actors and actresses, who are acting out fantasies, figments of the imagination. By contrast, this was real. I was a newbie flight attendant working for a private charter company. The situation was totally different. So what was going on?
But staring at myself once more, I knew it wasn’t going to stop. Because if Mr. Dawson wanted me again, I’d be there. I’d do anything he asked, willingly letting him use my body, to caress and stroke anywhere he wanted, seven miles up in the sky.
But would I ever see him again?
Would he even remember me?
That was the worst part about this whole scenario.
As a sex-positive woman, there was no shame in my actions. I’ve been taught to own my sexuality, to be proud of my choices. It was the other things instead. Like the surprise ten thousand dollar deposit from Elite Air in my bank account today, labeled “Bonus Pay.” How I had no idea if and when I’d ever see Damien again. Because we weren’t dating. We weren’t friends. The billionaire was a paying customer.
And the truth made my heart seize painfully.
Because is this what Elite Air did? Was this why I had a generous compensation package, a full fifty thousand dollars more than the commercial airlines? Was that the reason for the “surprise bonus” in my bank account?
It was crazy.
But somehow, I suspected it was true.
Which meant that the filthiness might not end.
Was I ready?
Could it be happening?
And tentatively, I delved deep, examining my heart of hearts. Because I’ve had a boring life. High school had been dull, and good grades weren’t exactly my thing. I was a shy mouse most days, hiding my figure behind baggy, unflattering clothes, with just one or two close friends.
But now, the world had cracked open wide.
There was opportunity at my fingertips.
The chance to see the world.
