Miranda Kim

Miranda Kim handed her boarding pass to the gate agent, hoping desperately. She was on the last flight out and she could see the whirling snowflakes outside through the glass behind the check-in counter. The snow was accumulating on the tarmac and many flights on the departures board had already been cancelled.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the gate agent. "Your flight is cancelled. We'll re-book you on the first flight tomorrow."

"But where will I stay overnight? The airline will put me up in a hotel, right?"

"No, I'm afraid not, ma'am," said the gate agent apologetically. "Bad weather is an Act of God. We are not responsible."

"But I can't afford a hotel!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the gate agent, clearly keen to get to the next customer. "You can stay in the airport till tomorrow. It's the best we can do."

The gate agent returned her boarding pass and Miranda turned away. She was on the verge of tears. The business trip had been a disaster: she had failed to close a single deal, there was no way she could afford a hotel! She was on probation at work - her boss had already given her two warnings, so he would fire her for this unless she ... gave him what he wanted. He made no secret about his desire to fuck her.

Miranda was a twenty-nine, a Korean-American born in Chicago, with degrees in chemistry and business. She was tall for an Asian woman, five foot nine in her stockings with soft, jet black shoulder length hair. Her eyes were quite narrow, even for a Korean, but her face was so symmetric that they complemented it well. She retained the athletic figure she had developed as a varsity swimmer in college. Her breasts were firm and just full enough to balance her narrow waist and tight ass. Overall, she was remarkably pretty and always turned men's heads.

The business suit she wore was in the modern style - a tight skirt that was on the short side, diaphanous white silk blouse and a short jacket. Her Balenciaga silk scarf was worn loose and did not cover her black silk mesh choker. She wore black stockings, whose tops showed when she sat down and her short skirt rode up. Her black open toe strappy pumps had small leather bows and heels that raised her height to almost six feet.

"My flight's been cancelled too."

Miranda looked around quickly - it couldn't be! But it was. Jack Grierson, her former client, as tall, athletic and well dressed as ever. He had a cocky expression, not looking at all unhappy with the situation.

"What are you doing here, Jack?"

"Like every red-blooded man here, I'm staring at your black lace bra through your translucent blouse."

"How's business?" she asked, trying to ignore his eyes that were undressing her.

"Better and better." He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. "How about you?"

"Terrible! I didn't make a single sale on this trip."

"What are you trying to sell?"

"Firewalls for industrial sites. Our systems are particularly good for continuous process industries."

"What's special about them?"

"They have an inbuilt neural net - they continuously mutate as they respond to hacking attempts. So you don't need to keep buying upgrades every few months."

"So why haven't you sold any?"

"Our systems are very expensive. The competition is 20% cheaper."

"That's too bad. Let me buy you a drink and commiserate. We've both had long days and we're stuck here for the night."

She hesitated before responding.

"I'm way behind on my quotas and my boss told me that if I don't make a sale on this trip, he's going to fire me."

"You should never have stopped handling my account. I was giving you enough business for you to make your quota, month in, month out."

"Yes, but the price was that you also gave me the business in bed. You impregnated me!"

"We had a good thing going. I fucked you, off and on, for almost two years. I didn't see any problems."

"I couldn't go on living a lie with Stan."

He began walking toward the Vino Volo wine bar that was a hundred yards from their gate. She fell into step beside him. He got them a table at the back, ordered a bottle of champagne and they clinked glasses.

"Jesus, I miss you, Miranda," he said. "We had great sex, didn't we? Even when you were heavily pregnant, we had so many positions: you rode me cowboy, reverse cowboy, I fucked you doggie style."

"Sex was never our problem. But I never enjoyed cheating on my husband."

"So is it any better with Stan now?"

"He's a great father to our daughter. He thinks she's his."

"Does he fuck you three or four times a night like I did? Did he get you pregnant with a second child?"

Miranda buttoned her jacket to cover her breasts and hide her bra from his unrelenting eyes.

"No," she admitted after a pause. Then she went on in a more aggressive tone. "But he doesn't force me to have sex at two in morning with another woman's sweat on his body and her fluids on his dick."

"That happened one time! And it was after the Christmas party your company threw for clients. I was drunk."

"You fucked one of the teenage cocktail waitresses at the party. And later came to my hotel room and forced me to have sex with you."

"Hold on!" Jack protested. "I seem to recall you cumming quite a few times that night. And begging me to fuck you harder."

Miranda felt her face grow warm and redden at the memory. She drained her champagne flute to avoid responding.

When the champagne was gone, Jack ordered another bottle. Miranda ate some nuts and olives, but she could feel the wine going to her head. She knew she should refuse, but when the waiter popped the cork on the second bottle she didn't stop him from refilling her glass. She unbuttoned her jacket, disregarding the way Jack's eyes caressed her breasts through her black bra.

"I'm sorry I took you for granted when we were sleeping together, Miranda. You're looking really sexy tonight. Sitting here, all I can think about is how we fucked in the restroom on that flight to London - three times!"

"I'd have happier memories of that flight if we hadn't later discovered that my boss was back in economy. He saw you with your hand up my skirt. He put two and two together and has been pestering me for sex ever since. He figures that if I cheated with one man at work, why not with another?"

"My God, Miranda, must you be so negative? We're together on a snowy night, drinking champagne and can do anything we want."

"Maybe you can. I can't afford a hotel. I'm going to spend the night on an uncomfortable airport chair."

She took a deep draught of her champagne and Jack refilled her flute.

"No need to do that. I've got a room at the airport Hilton. Come stay with me."

"No."

"Come on. You know you want to." He leaned toward her. "And loosen up a little. We're done working for the day."

He reached forward quickly. Before she could stop him, he undid the two top buttons of her blouse.

"There! You look much more comfortable and your silk choker shows up much better."

"You're incorrigible, Jack."

He drained his glass and she followed suit. He raised the bottle, but it was empty.

"No more champagne. Let's go to my room."

"Oh no," she said, wagging her finger and giggling. Two bottles of champagne between the two of them! She had a nearly empty stomach and was really beginning to feel the wine now. She had a hard time speaking without slurring. "I'm tipsy. I'm not going up to a hotel room with Jackhammer Grierson."

"You look so pretty, giggling like that."

He took out his phone and took several pictures of her. She was leaning forward on her elbows. With the top buttons of her blouse undone, he was able to fit her tight cleavage, the frilly tops of the cups of her lacey strapless black bra into the pictures. He attached the most revealing one to a text to Miranda's husband, Stan, with the message, "I'm with your beautiful wife tonight. Her flight is cancelled, but don't worry, I'll take good care of her tonight. Jack Grierson."

"Come on, Miranda. You can't spend the night in an airport chair. Not when you can sleep in a comfortable bed."

He stood up. She got up as well, teetering slightly on her high heels.

"Okay," she said. She knew she was slurring now. "But I want to sleep, not fuck. I'm not starting with you again."

"We'll do whatever you want," he said, taking her roller suitcase and hooking it to his.

Just as they started walking, her phone rang. She fished it out of her bag and looked at the screen. It was her husband, Seho 'Stan' Kim.

"How are you, darling?" He sounded worried and his Korean accent was thicker than usual.

"Fine, fine," she replied, her accent turning even more American in response. "My flight's been cancelled, that's all. I'll be home on the first flight tomorrow."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're slurring a bit."

"I've had a long day. I had a glass of champagne."

"Are you alone?"

Miranda glanced at Jack before replying.

"I ran into an old client, John Grierson. We had a quick drink together."

"Are you with him now?"

Miranda looked over at Jack again and said, "I'm just saying goodbye to him."

"Good, good. I'll call you back in half an hour. Then we can chat privately."

"Okay."

"Is your Asiatic husband being the mother hen again? 'Now don't be naughty, Miranda, cluck, cluck!' I can't understand why you married such an old man."

"Stan and I are both Korean-Americans."

"You look and sound All-American," responded Jack patting her firm rump. "You were a cheerleader in high school, a varsity swimmer in college! He sounds like he arrived from Korea yesterday."

"He's not that old! He's fifty-one!"

"That's pretty old. And he acts older." Jack.

"Well, age is just a number. You're a mature man and you act like a high school boy with raging hormones. You try to fuck every woman you come across!"

"Every woman is special to me. If anyone is starved for love, it's me."

"My heart breaks for you."

"Oscar Wilde said that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"I'm not trying to be funny," Miranda snapped.

They entered the lobby of the airport Hilton and Jack led the way to the elevators. He pushed the button for the top floor. Once there, he led the way to the corner suite. It had a brass plate on the door that read "Regal Suite".

"Who's paying for this?" she asked.

"I've got a gold membership in the Hilton Club. I managed to score an upgrade."

They entered. There was an large sitting room with ornate furniture and floor to ceiling windows that looked out on to the airport runways. There was a silver bucket with a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne and a tray of nuts, olives and gherkins. Jack popped the cork and poured out two glasses and handed one to her without a word.

"No, ..." she began.

"Just to toast. To our snowy reunion in my hotel upgrade."

"Okay," she said reluctantly.

They clinked glasses and she took a sip. She was about to put the glass down when her phone rang again. It was Stan.

"Shit," she said.

She chugged the glass, ignoring Jack's expostulation, "Hey! That's expensive champagne!"

"Hi, Stan," she said, slurring badly now.

"Miranda! How much have you had to drink?"

"Probably too mush, I mean mush, I mean mush much," she said, and giggled again. "I've been a bad girl."

"Are you with John Grierson?"

"No, no," she said. "I'm alone. I'm goin' to shleep now ..."

"Miranda! Stop drinking! I mean, like right now!"

"Okay, sir!" said Miranda in a mock subservient tone.

"Miranda!" Stan was pleading now. "You sound very drunk! Don't do something you will regret."

"No, sir," she said. "No more drinks!"

"Oh, good, good," said Stan, relief plain in his voice. "Just keep talking to me. As long as you like."

She looked at Jack and giggled. Jack came up to her and began unbuttoning the rest of the buttons of her translucent white blouse.

"No!" she said to him in a loud whisper, catching one of his wrists with her free hand. She slowed him, but could not stop him. "No, don't!"

"What's up, darling?" asked Stan. "Who are you saying 'no' to?"

"Just the barman," Miranda said, quickly. "He was trying to refill my wine glass and I told him no."

Jack managed to undo the last of the buttons on her blouse and began to pull it out of her skirt waistband.

"No, no," she whispered and tried to keep her blouse tucked in.

"What's going on, darling?" asked Stan again.

"Oh, the barman is being very insistent," she said hastily, still fighting to rebutton her blouse. It was a hopeless struggle and Jack soon had her blouse out of the way.

"You must be firm, Miranda," said Stan. "Don't let him bully you."

"Of course," she said, as Jack began to knead her breasts through her black strapless bra and kiss her nipples through the fabric. Her nipples were already half hard and now poked through the lace as stiff and long as rifle bullets. She tried to push Jack away with her free hand, whispering again, "No, no, no!"

"Look how excited you are," whispered Jack. "See I how hard your nipples are getting ... relax, don't fight it."

"Just talk to me, baby," said Stan.

"You want phone sex?" asked Miranda, realizing that Stan would not hang up and that Jack would not stop.

"I don't want to keep you up," said Stan, hesitantly. "You're tired."

"I know you want it!"

"But you're in a bar! Aren't there people around?"

"I'll find a secluded corner."

"Okay, then."

She could hear the eagerness in his voice.

"I'm goin' to feel myself. You can hear me. You do it with me. I want to hear you, too."

"Okay."

There was no hesitation Stan's voice now.

"You got your dick out?"

"Yes, yes."

Jack began kissing Miranda's throat down the side, kneading her breasts with his hands. He spread her scarf out of the way and his tongue ran over the smooth silk of her choker. Her breath began to be audible, just gentle sighing at first.

"You sound great, baby," Stan said. He was clearly farther along than her, for his voice was strained.

Jack picked her up and carried her to the big king bed. He hiked up her skirt, his fingers tracing lines on the smooth nylon to the tops of her stockings, and over her snap-on garters to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She gasped, put her phone on speaker and dropped it on the bed beside her.

"Tell me, baby," gasped Stan, his voice clear in the speaker, his strong accent unmistakable. "Tell me what you're doing."

"I've got my skirt up around my waist," she panted. "My fingers are on my panties."

Jack's fingers reached her black panties. He traced the line of her vulva through the thin lace-trimmed satin. Her panting grew louder.

"Tell me more, tell me more," implored Stan.

Jack hooked his fingers in the waistband of Miranda's panties and pulled sharply. There was a tearing sound as he ripped them and pulled them off. She caught her breath and Jack pushed his face into her crotch. His tongue traced her thick vulva lips and he pushed two fingers deep into her pussy.

"OMIGOD!!" she cried out.

"What did you do? Tell me! Tell me!"

"I've got fingers in my pussy!" she groaned. "It's driving me wild!"

Jack worked up to a rapid tempo, his tongue keeping pace with his fingers. He pushed them as deeply as he could into Miranda's pussy.

"OH! AAHH!! OOHH! AAAHH!! OOOHHH!! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" Miranda's voice climbed the octaves and they could hear Stan's heavy breathing on the speakerphone. Just as Miranda began cumming, they heard Stan's telltale grunts that indicated he had spurted his load.

Miranda lay on her back, panting slightly. Jack moved up on her body, undid her loose scarf, and pulled down her bra cups. His tongue began teasing her bare hard nipples.

Miranda did not realize that Jack had gotten naked when she felt his old, familiar weight on her. Then she felt his gargantuan cock between her upper thighs, his cockhead at her wet vulva, his skin against hers.

"God, Miranda, listening to you cumming was so exciting!" exclaimed Stan. "Are you going to the ladies to freshen up?"

"No, no," she mumbled. "Still excited! Going again ... "

"You can't be serious, Miranda! You just came!"

"OOOHH!!" she expostulated as Jack pushed his cockhead into her. He used his weight to drive his entire organ into her, his length and girth stretching and filling her underused pussy. He paused to let her reorient herself to him, to feel the heavy pulse of his heart through the veins in his member far inside her. In their years apart, she had forgotten the intensity of being so fully penetrated.

"OMIGOD!" she cried. "You're in so deep!"

Jack kissed her open mouthed and she felt his thick tongue invading her orally, one hand gripping the back of her neck at her choker to hold her head steady. He gathered her wrists together with his other hand and pinned them up on the pillow behind her head. The years melted away and it was like she had never left his bed, as though being impaled on his immense manhood was her natural state of being.

"Who's in so deep?" Stan's voice wafted in, high with worry. "What are you doing now?"

Jack began to fuck Miranda, slowly, with long, steady strokes. Each one brought forth a gasp "OOOHH!!" from her, interspersed with "OMIGOD!! OMIGOD!!" Miranda was extremely wet now, so Jack's thrusts created distinctive slopping sounds with a soft smack at the end as his mount hit her vulva. She rotated her hips, grinding his cock against her stretched pussy walls. She pulled hard on his grip on her wrists above her head, arching her back to rub her firm breasts against his hard chest.

"Are you masturbating again, Miranda?" Stan's voice was plaintive. "Are you using a vibrator? Tell me! Talk to me! I'm spent, I can't join you!"

"I'M CUMMING!! I'M CUMMING AGAIN!! OMIGOD, I'M CUMMING SO HARD!!"

"Miranda! Don't be so loud! Someone might hear you!"

But she cried out several more times as her contractions waxed and waned. Her body twisted in Jack's grip, her pussy gripping his shaft its velvet maws. Both Miranda and Jack were covered with sweat now, their bodies sliding against each other, moving to the staccato rhythm he dictated. Her contractions were more powerful and continued longer than he remembered, perhaps fueled by her years of passionless sex since her last tryst with him. Jack felt the twitching in his member and knew that he would not be able to hold it back any longer. Miranda continued to cry out, and Jack began to cum, pumping his thick, musky semen into her through three hard thrusts. She felt the gushing warmth of his copious ejaculation in her innermost recesses and remembered with trepidation that she was ovulating.

He lay on her, still fully sheathed, his viscous ejaculate beginning to leak out around his softening member. Miranda's thinking mind was wiped out by the intensity of her orgasm. She just lay on her back, pulling great gulps of air into her lungs, aware of his weight on her, but still lightheaded from her explosive climax and too drained to move.

"My God, Jack!" she mumbled finally. "I'd forgotten how hard you make me cum. I almost passed out."

"The night is young," said Jack. "I'll try harder."

Too late, she remembered her live phone. She quickly retrieved it and cut the line to Stan, pushing Jack to make him roll off her. He complied and lay beside her. He held her in a tight embrace, kissing her eyebrows, her eyes, and her nose, before seeking her lips to push his thick tongue into her mouth again. Her tongue sparred with his, but she was still very buzzed with liquor and her climax and had little enthusiasm. It soon grew one-sided , so he stopped. He just held her, reveling in the feel of her firm, young breasts and her still hard nipples against his skin. She closed her eyes and soon dozed off.

He heard the faint buzz that indicated an incoming text on his phone. He reached over into his jacket pocket and pulled it out, reading the screen behind her head. It was response to picture of Miranda that he had sent Stan.