Izzy Needs It

Izzy Needs It

Izzy pushes her dirty blonde hair from her forehead, looking for the right person—a man. The airport is crowded, and her stomach is knotted with nervous energy. She wants to be more sexually adventurous, but it's hard. Maybe the hardest thing she has ever done?

She worries about what people will think if she just lets herself go.

She is headed to see her boyfriend in Chicago. He wants her to be more sexually adventurous, too. At the gate, Izzy spots a suitable guy wearing flip-flops and a big straw hat. He's attractive and young. Well-built. She flirts with him, joking about the hat. As they chat, she touches his forearm with the tips of her fingers, offering him a hungry look. They have drinks, and she makes her intentions clear.

He says he's game.

On the plane, she finds her seat. A handsome fifty-something man sits in the aisle. He is tall and dark, with a big chest and thick biceps. Crawling past him, Izzy plops her purse into the open middle seat and buckles in at the window. Her head is buzzing softly from the drinks in the terminal, and she's already planning in her mind how she will tell her boyfriend about her successful adventure on this trip.

After takeoff, Izzy's friend from the gate visits her row. He slides into the open seat next to her. They have more drinks, and he quickly passes out. Slumping forward, Izzy gazes at his straw hat. She wasn't sure she could do it, and now she won't even get the chance.

The plane lurches up, then pitches back the other way.

The flight attendant wakes her friend and asks him to return to his seat. He stumbles into the aisle. Izzy goes into a shame spiral. She is disappointed. Her boyfriend will be disappointed. It's all just so very disappointing.

Izzy gets up to go to the bathroom, but as soon as she unbuckles the plane heaves, and she falls into the middle seat. The plane shudders violently, dipping hard right, then back left again. A cold dread fills Izzy. She will surely die today, having never done anything sexually adventurous. The aisle man grabs her, pressing her into the middle seat, covering her with his body until the plane stops bucking. Raising his shoulders, he buckles her into the seat.

Izzy is too terrified to speak. Her heart is thudding in her chest. The plane dips and lurches again, and Izzy screams, grabbing onto the armrests.

The man looks at her intensely.

Their eyes lock.

"I need sex," she whimpers. She isn't sure why she is unburdening herself to a stranger. Maybe because his eyes are big and brown and steady. Maybe because her death feels certain and imminent. "I, I..." Izzy says, squeezing the armrests for courage. "I need it."

He narrows his eyes.

A sudden cowboy yelp breaks the tension in the cabin. Yeeehaw!

It's the captain over the intercom. He says they have passed the worst of it, and the plane bucks and rocks as if to defy his words, but then it settles down. A wave of nausea washes over Izzy. She immediately regrets voicing her needs to her seatmate. Feeling her cheeks warm, she looks tentatively at the man in the aisle seat.

He glances into his lap, then glares at her. "Excuse me?" he hisses.

Izzy suddenly realizes that her hand is in his lap, and she is holding his cock. She'd thought it was the armrest, but now that she realizes it's his cock, she can't imagine how she has made such a horrible mistake. She snatches her hand away, gasping.

The man lowers the armrest between them.

Izzy apologizes.

She explains about her boyfriend, about their goals for her to become more adventurous. She is humiliated and flustered, and she laughs at the ridiculousness of her situation. He does not look amused and she blusters apology on top of apology. Even as she desperately works to make her social blunder right, part of her mind keeps returning to the length and heft of his cock. It felt like an armrest. How could a man's cock feel that hard and stiff? It's just really turning her on, but she can't think about it that way because his look has gone from stern to deeply skeptical. He is not having some little twenty-something white girl holding onto his cock for courage. God, she squeezed that big fucking thing and it did not give much. Like a fucking armrest.

"Enough," he says. Holding up his hands.

Izzy goes back to the window seat. She is embarrassed and hot.

They fly a little further in silence, and then he says something to make idle conversation. He asks about Chicago and she is only too happy to respond. They have a little back and forth. He tells her that he is going to meet some family—a little surprise visit. He seems willing to let it go.

As they start to descend, he tells her about a risk he took once. How it changed his life. He says something encouraging about people who take risks.

Izzy feels better.

They disembark and she ends up at the gate. She is killing time so that she doesn't have to call her boyfriend and tell him she failed. Her seatmate strolls past. He stops and looks at her. It's such a calculating and hungry look that Izzy's cheeks warm. She knows he is inviting her to do something sexual. He is much older than her, old enough to be her father. He extends his hand. She looks around. He is not the one she had imagined she would have sex with, but he is the one in front of her right now.

She takes his hand.

He leads her through the airport. He is dragging his bag in one hand, holding her hand with the other. She is dragging her bag. They are a little two-car train heading for sex. She won't let herself think about what she is getting herself into but just tries to enjoy the forbidden energy. Her pussy is sopping wet. He turns into the men's room and doesn't break stride. Her face heats up, and a tingling starts down below.

There is a line and they have to wait just inside the door.

He doesn't look left or right. He doesn't let go of her hand. Men are looking at her as they exit the bathroom. A guy grins at her seatmate, but he ignores it. Soon a stall opens and he drags her and the bags to just outside the door. It's one of those big handicap stalls. He pulls her bag into the stall. His own. She hurries inside, and he closes and latches the door.

He lifts the seat, unzips his fly, and urinates.

She turns her head.

The sound of his stream tumbling into the bowl fills the stall. She steals a look. It's a fucking huge cock, a big black pipe. A hot thrill runs through her.

He finishes, zipping up.

He takes a big handful of paper toilet seat covers from the holder on the wall and cleans the rim of the bowl, the seat. Throwing the spent paper into the bowl, he flushes again. He stands, smiles, and makes a little gesture with his hands toward the toilet.

She sits before him.

He opens his pants and pulls out that big cock.

Her breath is coming fast and hard. This is it. She takes his warm cock in her hands and rubs her cheek against him. She kisses the big head. Licks underneath. Putting as much of that big cock into her mouth as she can, she breathes in his musky scent. Her boyfriend is biracial, but this man is all black. He is an old black man with a huge cock that needs a good sucking. Her job is to satisfy him with her mouth. She gets down on her knees. She is stroking and sucking, licking. His balls need attention, and she provides it. He starts stroking the length. He warns her that he is going to come soon, and she responds by stuffing him right into her mouth. He makes low growling man noises, and soon a pool of warm semen fills her mouth. She swallows a mouthful of hot spunk. He pulls his dick from her mouth, and she tilts her chin up, opening wide. Her mouth is his to use however he pleases. Cum splashes across her face, into her hair. After he finishes, he slips his fat prick back into her mouth and holds her by the head, grinding his hips. Blood throbs in her ears. Her face has never been used like this before.

He takes his cock from her mouth and puts it back in his pants. He zips, turns, and opens the door. Taking his bag, he is gone.

Her lips tingle. Her face is smeared with cum.

Someone tries to come into the stall, and she realizes she is in a dangerous position. She grabs her bag and exits the stall. The guy coming into the stall is shocked to see her. All the men in the restroom stop. Stare.

Her seatmate is nowhere to be seen.

She races from the bathroom, not stopping to wash. She wipes her face with her bare hands. She considers going into the women's bathroom but decides she can't risk it. She must walk through the airport with cum smeared on her face. She does her best to clean herself with her hands, wiping his semen on her shirt, her slacks. She can smell his musk on her. She is such a slut. Her hands shake and she calls her boyfriend.

"Baby?" she says.

"Honey?" His voice sounds alarmed.

"I did it, baby. I sucked a cock."

Silence. For a minute, she thinks he might reject her. When he does speak, his voice is tentative. For all his certainty about experimentation before her trip, now he sounds uncertain. He says he is on his way. The wait for him to arrive is agony. Finally, he finds her at the curb. He gets out of the car and holds her. Relief washes over her. They kiss and she can't help but think about that big black cock that reamed her mouth.

In the car, his hesitancy is gone, if it ever was there. He slips his hand between her legs, squeezing her cunt. A cop waves them away from the curb. The pickup area is packed with cars. He negotiates the maze of cars, eyes on the road.

He wants details.

She reaches between his legs and he's hard. He's not as big as her seatmate and it shames her to make this comparison. He asks her what she did, and she takes a deep breath.

"I sucked a cock. In a toilet stall."

It's such a bald statement and her pussy tingles with the knowledge that it's true. He cuts his eyes to her, and she is suddenly uncertain again. His eyes. It's hard to read his eyes in the darkness of the car.

"Context, context," he says.

She tells him her lover was her seatmate. She doesn't talk about the turbulence or the guy with the straw hat. She says her lover was older, her voice wandering off before she mentions an age. She doesn't want to admit she had sex with a guy who is as old as her father. She lies, making him younger than he is but older than her twenty-two years.

"Tell me the good stuff."

Izzy gives his cock a playful squeeze and retreats into her seat.

She didn't realize talking about what happened would be this much of a challenge. She suggests they wait until they get home to talk. He pulls into a parking area and comes to a stop in a darkened corner.

Her pulse quickens. She looks into his eyes.

"He had a big cock." She means her lover, of course, and she hopes against hope she isn't inadvertently hurting her boyfriend's feelings.

His grin provides reassurance.

She nuzzles his neck, whispering about the shape and texture of the cock she sucked. She talks about the bathroom, how all the men stared at her. She has told him many times about her fears about what other people think of her. "They knew why I'd gone in there," she says, her voice cracking with pent-up emotion. She swallows hard.

"They think I'm a slut," she whispers.

He is smiling, nodding his head. "You are a slut, baby."

Her breathing grows rapid and short. His words rip a hole in her chest. Her lip quivers, and she blinks back the tears. Holding his face with her hands, she presses her lips against his and feels his tongue slip into her mouth. His big hands collect her, holding her bottom, stroking and squeezing her tits.

"He, he... came in my mouth," she whispers.

She can't meet her boyfriend's eyes. He has longed to come inside her mouth for as long as she has known him, but she has never allowed it.

He tilts her chin up and shoves his tongue deep inside. She is on his lap now and the wheel is pressing into her back. He cups her pussy with his palm sending a jolt of sexual energy into her core. She whimpers into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss.

"That's what little sluts do with their mouths," he says.

He starts undressing her. Not really removing her clothes so much as just unbuttoning and tugging the fabric aside, baring her hot pink flesh to his touch. She has to help him slide her pants down. He tugs her panties aside to work on her swollen clitoris. She tells about swallowing a hot load of bitter sperm. How she got on the floor, tilted her head back, and opened her mouth wide as he anointed her face. She tells about all the other men in the bathroom who watched her exit the stall and then walking through the airport with cum on her face.

His fingers rub her slippery cunt lips. She spreads her knees, her pants at her ankles. Holding her tits, she feels herself begin to crest. She is such a dirty little slut.

"Good girl, good girl," he whispers.

The orgasm wracks her body, and she clenches her thighs together, trapping his hand. Crashing back into his lap, she sighs. He gives her a few moments but then hustles her into the passenger seat, lowers the seatback, and removes one of her legs from her pants.

His cock is throbbing and hard.

He plunges into her, and she whispers vulgar things about their union. This dirty talk is a normal part of their loving-making routine, but her words feel different now, somehow more genuine and authentic. Before she was a poser, just whispering words. Now she is a full-fledged tramp. Already sated, she finds it difficult to connect to him emotionally as he goes about the business of taking care of his needs. He pumps his hips. She is apart, distracted. A voyeur, watching as some boy uses his trampy girlfriend in the front seat of his car.

Her thoughts go to her big black lover in the airport bathroom. This thought both turns her on and makes her uncomfortable, but then her boyfriend whispers that she is a slut, a dirty little slut. His words are a reminder for her to explore her needs. She imagines that big black cock sliding into her pussy, filling her up. She remembers how safe she felt, pinned beneath him, his solid chest against her as the plane pitched and banked.

Her boyfriend whispers that he is on the edge. His announcement brings her back to the moment. She offers her mouth, a hot whisper in his ear. He reaches between them, pulls out, and moans into the quiet of the darkened car. He comes on her mons, her tummy.

They dress in silence.

For the second time that day, she uses her hands to remove semen sprayed on her body. The ride to his apartment is quiet and easy, a comfortable stillness. In bed, she nuzzles against him. Her mind returns to the airport bathroom, all those grinning men. The way her mysterious lover held her hand, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he waited for a stall to open. He knew what she needed and was determined to give it to her. Her pussy grows moist, and she resists the urge to press her body against her man. He has to work tomorrow. Slipping a pillow between her legs, she tries to settle herself, but her body is unwilling to settle. Her mind replays the moment she slipped to her knees in the bathroom stall, intent on satisfying a stranger. His announcement that he was about to come and the way she blanked her mind and waited for her reward. She slips out of the bed, goes to the bathroom, and lies on the cold tile, burying her fingers in her sopping, hungry cunt. Padding back to bed, she has a fitful sleep.

In the morning, cold sunlight fills the bedroom.

The bed is empty.

She reviews the previous day in her mind. The flight to Chicago, making love to her boyfriend, and now waking up in his bed. And then she remembers licking that big black cock in the airport bathroom. Her body instinctively pulls in on itself, tightening. Her cunt tingles, quickly growing moist.

Her man pokes his head through the door. "You up?"

She smiles, stretching both arms out toward him. Her fists open and close, motioning him closer. He approaches the bed, and she reaches for his crotch.

"We have company," he says, pulling back. "Get dressed. I want you to meet someone."

He is excited and she doesn't want to offend him, but she doesn't want to meet anyone either. She grabs her hair and complains about how she looks. He dismisses her concerns, saying none of it matters. An emergency has come up at work, or he would just take off. He wants her to hurry, please hurry. He promises she will like this surprise.

She slips on shorts. A loose t-shirt.

Her pussy has that special kind of soreness that comes from a lot of attention after a period of drought. He puts his arm around her and leads her into the other room. She sees a handsome man with a big chest and large biceps. Suddenly all the air leaves her lungs, and she looks up at her boyfriend with confusion and horror.

The man from the airport is standing in the kitchen.

"This is my father, Jake," her boyfriend says.

Izzy gasps, her mouth dry.

Jake smiles pleasantly, extending his hand. She meets his eyes and finds no hint that he recognizes her, though surely, he must. Her boyfriend is pleasantly grinning, talking about past surprise visits from his father.

"Pleased to meet you," Jake says.

Izzy marshals her wits, realizing she must extend her hand or be rude to Jake, her boyfriend's father. Extricating herself from under her boyfriend's arm, she reaches for Jake's hand. Both men laugh about her bewildered state, and her boyfriend defends her by saying something about jet lag. Jake grips her hand. His touch sends a bolt of sexual energy straight to her core. She isn't prepared for such a response and makes a soft needy moan, which she quickly suppresses. Retreating to the coffee nook, Izzy composes herself.

The men talk, and her mind races.

She feels certain Jake recognizes her but wears a mask of gentle cheerfulness. Likewise, she feels certain that her boyfriend has no idea his father is her lover. When she thinks about that big cock, she swallows hard and can't help but stare at Jake's crotch. Her pussy throbs with excitement. She raises her eyes and Jake is staring at her with an expression of weary disbelief, and she immediately knows to locate her boyfriend. With relief, she sees he has his head buried in the refrigerator. When she looks back, Jake is continuing the conversation with his son, who places a cold carton of orange juice in front of his father.

Her cheeks warm, and she snorts. Jake knows the truth. Her boyfriend gives her a curious look, sending a pang of fear through her. Her boyfriend must never learn the truth.

"Izzy?" her boyfriend says.

Izzy takes a deep breath, feeling certain she looks as guilty as she feels.

"Will you entertain my dad today?" her boyfriend asks. He says he hopes to tackle the emergency at work and then return to the apartment around six or seven.

Izzy shakes her head, speechless, as both men stare, but then she says, "Of course, of course." Raising her hands in a gesture of utter surrender, she asks Jake what he likes to do.

Jake makes a noncommittal shrug.

Izzy walks her boyfriend to the door. After he leaves, she leans against the door and takes her head in both her hands. Her palms are clammy, and her legs feel weak. Jake stands before her, arms crossed on his chest.

"I'm so sorry this happened," she says.

Jake stands immobile, a look on his face that's hard to read. Is he angry? Hurt? From the way the two of them interacted, they didn't seem to be particularly close. Izzy hopes that's the case. He steps towards her. He makes a big sigh, shaking his head.

Hot tears well in her eyes. This man thinks she's a slut.