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From: versutiae@aol.com (Versutiae)
Subject: REPOST: "Boarding Pass" by Cynthia (m/f rom) (2 of 4)
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     "Boarding Pass" by Cynthia: Versutiae@aol.com    (m/f rom) (2 of 4)

     Currents of people flowed around him, unhindered, unchallenged.  Bumped
and
nudged, wanting to push the whole murmuring lot aside, Tim bitterly held his
ground, stretching on his toes to peer over the bobbing heads.  He'd lost
Adrienne again.  He grimaced and dug through his pockets as instructed.  The
airport was a portrait of bustle and rush, and he was stuck.  The damned metal
detector had tripped him up again.
     The culprit was the keychain his brother had made for him.  Rik was a
career
prankster who masqueraded as an artist.  The metal shape dangling from the ring
was a fanciful representation of an airplane with swooping, angelic wings.  It
was Rik's way of belaboring a comment he'd made years ago: that Tim's body
spent an inordinate time in the air while his mind rarely left the ground.  It
hadn't
exactly been a compliment.
     He kept meaning to throw the damned thing away but never made the time. 
Grumbling, he emptied his pockets into a dish and stared into the tumult,
looking for fury in a black autumn dress.    
     Adrienne had snatched up her carry-on bag as soon as it had crawled
through the
scanner.  Without so much as a glance, she had stormed ahead, confident he was
right behind her.  Anger and frustration stood out from her like poisoned
quills. 
People instinctively scooted out of her way.
     Inside all the bitter purposefulness, the hateful impatience, she was
aching. 
Teased to the point of being homicidal, she could not imagine a time when she
was so full of wanting.  Even her clothes tormented her.
     She could just make out the whispering of her stockings as they brushed
together.  Zip-zip.  Zip-zip.  The delightful friction only made things worse. 
She
imagined flints scraping against each other, striking sparks in between.  It
was
only a matter of time before they successfully struck flame.
     Her purse thumped her hip.  The lace of her bra sanded her nipples.  Her
panties
pinched at her, wedged snugly between her buttocks.  Having been wet all
afternoon, she was getting itchy.  It was only a matter of time before she
simply
exploded.  Gritting her teeth, she stomped on toward her gate.
     As the corridor opened onto the concourse proper, she glanced over her
shoulder
with a strained smile and stopped so suddenly that the hem of her dress swayed
around her ankles.  Anger glowed from her cheeks.  As though it was not enough
she was running late for her plane and knotted up in frustration, she had lost
her
husband.
     She dropped her duffle and ran a hand through her black hair, scowling,
her
eyebrows scrunched in annoyance.  "Rik," she muttered.  
     She tried not to be angry, but her mood had become hopelessly abrasive,
well
beyond smoothing.  The situation was to blame, not Tim.  If one great curse
loomed over them, it was poor timing.  It seemed they wanted each other most
just as they could do nothing about it.  She cursed her colleague for getting
sick
and the university for sending her to the damned-fool symposium in his place.  
 
     She sighed, hefted her bag and continued toward the gate.  In moments, Tim
fell
in step beside her, reining in his stride and tucking his tie back into his
ubiquitous grey suit.  He shook a sprig of wavy, brown hair back into place. 
Walking side-by-side through the crowd, they made an elegant couple.  They did
not feel particularly elegant.
     "I'm burning up, Tim," she said without looking at him.  "I've been
simmering so
long I could be sprinkled with tarragon and served over rice."
     "Don't give me ideas."  He smirked and scratched his upper lip.  The tang
of her
still clung to his fingertips.  "If you think you've got it bad, try walking
with a
divining rod in your trousers."
     "I'd like to."
     Faces blurred around them as the gates streamed past.  Couples were
noisily
reunited, squealing with happiness.  Associates clapped each other on the back.

Wistful parents herded yipping children.
     "Have I mentioned that I'm going to kill your brother?"
     "You're going to have to get in line."
     A tall, young man chugged past them, his sleepy, straw-like hair flopping
as he
scanned either side of the concourse in search of someone.  He wore a weathered
"Nietzsche Sucks" t-shirt and carried a fistful of balloons that bounced
against
each other as he pushed through the crowd.
     At the far end of the concourse, they finally came upon her gate.  The
huge
floor-to-ceiling window looked out onto twilight and the fat nose of the plane.
 A
maze of uncomfortable, black chairs snaked around the gate.  Most were filled. 
Anxious and tired faces littered the area.
     In the middle of the mess sat a girl twirling a large maple leaf, smiling
whenever
the waxy, colorful side came around as though the splashes of red and orange
changed with every turn.  She frowned at the plane and blew it a noisy
raspberry, 
less than pleased about going to California.
     Adrienne leaned resolutely against a pillar near the concourse.  She
dropped her
bag and gave it a bitter kick.  Arms crossed, she glared out at the plane. 
Behind
her, Tim sighed and began massaging her shoulders.
     "Stop that."
     "I need an excuse to touch you," he said, tracing her shoulder blades. 
"Besides,
you're all knotted up."
     "It's not going to make matters easier."
     He ran his thumbs up the back of her neck, and she groaned almost
imperceptibly, suddenly given to tiny shivers.
     "You're too good at that."
     "Relax," he whispered.
     "I can't."
     Over the past few weeks, their zigzagging paths had never fully crossed. 
Instead,
they had merely brushed a few times, just enough to make the wanting cruel and
the having impossible.  This impromptu trip topped the "most hated obstacle"
list.
     On the way to the airport, they had teased each other in the car, talking
about
how they had wanted each other for days on end and how something always
seemed to come up.  In the parking garage, they had nearly given in, hands
groping, mouths wandering, but always the clock had been there, smugly
reminding them there simply was not the time.  Worse yet, she was going to be
gone for four more days, making release that much more elusive.
     "You can sneak a little strum after takeoff."
     "That won't be the same," she said, hissing out the words.  "It won't be
enough."
     "Well, the next flight is...," he offered.
     "No.  I have to take this one.  They'll be waiting for me at the airport."
     "Then we're screwed."
     "No, the situation is screwed," she said.  "We're not that lucky."  They
laughed
bitterly.
     Sliding his arms over hers, Tim hugged her from behind.  She groaned when
she
felt the hard press of his cock.  He smirked and rested his chin on her
shoulder. 
"I love you, Ade," he whispered.
     "You're cruel," she sighed, "but I love you anyway."  As subtly as she
could, she
groped him with her behind, squeezing and releasing, making him harder.  He
resented her talents sometimes.  
     A disembodied voice barked the boarding order.  They jumped and looked
about
to see if anyone had been watching.  "We're going to be arrested at this rate,"
Tim said.  People perked up, waiting for row announcements.  Adrienne frowned
down at her watch.  
     The parting routine could be avoided no longer.  She turned to face him,
squeezed his hand and pulled him into her arms.  They kissed.  However, in less
than a minute, what should have been their patented "good-bye for now" kiss
snowballed dangerously close to social deviance.  Feeling stares, they abruptly
stopped, smoothed their clothes.
     A young woman in sweatpants and a university t-shirt sat nearby, a shy but
envious longing plain on her face.  She shifted in her seat and made a
concerted
effort to keep her eyes on the floor.  A rail-thin woman with wiry hair sneered
disapproval.  She looked as though she had just swallowed a quart of lemon
juice... or a gallon of jealousy.
     "We've got to do something," Tim whispered.
     "The plane takes off in fifteen minutes!  Where can we go?!"
     He looked frantically about, as though a bed might be hiding behind the
rippling
curtain of people.  He laughed.  "The 'minnies!'"
     "What?"
     "The airport rents mini offices for obsessive idiots like me who can't
escape
work," he said, smirking.  "It's pretty much a closet with a desk and a chair,
but
what more do we need?"
     She dug her fingers into his shoulders and skewered him with her eyes. 
"Where?!"
     "Back toward the main thoroughfare.  We passed a few on the way down here.

But..."
     "But what?!"
     "You have to go way back to rent one.  By the time we get a key..."
     "Then I'll break into one."  She was only half joking.  He believed she
would.
     Tim swept up her bag and led the way, his hand tightly around hers.  They
bumped their way through the crowd, everyone seemingly intent on slowing
them.  They zipped past the detectors and hustled up the corridor.
     Adrienne's stockings whispered quickly, desperately.  She tried not to
listen, to
feel, but their raspy voices teased out the wetness between her legs.  She bit
her
lip, certain this was foolishness and that she would soon be simmering
miserably
on the plane.
     Near the end of the corridor, the featureless walls yielded to small sets
of
windows and doors.  Fluorescent light squinted through the blinds.  They dashed
from door to door, cursing every time a lock failed to yield.
     The very last knob turned smoothly in Tim's hand. He grinned at her as he
pushed the door wide.  He pitched the bag inside and tugged her in by the arms.

     "I think we're in lu..."
     "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
     A squat executive glared from the office's tiny desk, welcoming them with
all of
the joy of a bad smell.  His red paisley suspenders and wide, yellow tie arced
over a snug white shirt.  A blue blazer sagged from the back of his chair.  His
jowly face seemed to have come with a built-in scowl.  He looked the type who
would sue over a misdialed phone number.
     The computer before him hummed in the tense silence, his thick fingers
poised
over the keys.  His briefcase yawned on a plump, green chair beneath the shaded
window.   
     Completely subverting the man's manicured air of menace, his eyes were
remarkably and uncharacteristically doleful.  His entire face seemed to want to
cover up the imperfection, squeezing and drooping around his eyes in an attempt
to make them look beady.  Regardless, he looked as obliging as a mountain.
     He reached for the phone.  Tim gritted his teeth, his mind whirling,
trying to
piece together a quick pitch.  "Agent Atkinson.  U.S. Customs."  Adrienne
coughed.  He tightened his grip and stood his ground, trying to look cold and
officious.  "I need this room."
     He was just tall enough, just driven enough and just intimidating enough
in his
severe grey suit that he was almost convincing.  He seized Adrienne by the
shoulders, holding her arms behind her.  She sucked in her lips, biting back
the
urge to laugh.
     Tim kept at it, sharpening the edge of his voice.  "This woman is wanted
throughout Europe."  
     The businessman's jowls drooped.  He did not look happy.  Worse yet, he
was
not buying.
     "And I have reason to believe she is carrying a bomb."
     The man's bushy eyebrows twitched a little.  Adrienne sank into the
charade,
hanging her head and glaring at him through the points of her bangs.  Between
the lust and bustle, her hair had taken on a sharp, ragged look.  Her face
flushed
with wanting, she smiled, looking positively psychotic.  As desperate as she
had
become, the look required little acting.  Stretching her smile into a grin, she
could feel the man's sense of safety crawling away.
     Tim pinched Adrienne's arms back until he could hold both of her hands in
one
of his.  With his free hand, he picked up her bag.  Packing his words in ice,
he
said, "Perhaps you'd like to look for yourself."  He threw the bag at the man's
feet.
     The executive swallowed, jowls rippling.  The weight of Tim's stone eyes
was
squeezing the breath from him.  He leaned nervously toward the bag. 
Without warning, Adrienne shouted furiously at the man in French, yelling
herself hoarse and straining against Tim's hold.  Her voice was loud and sharp
in
the small room.  The man's eyes shrank, and his eyebrows reached for the
ceiling.  He popped out of his chair and scooted around the desk, herded by the
prod of her voice.
     "Quiet, bitch!" Tim growled.  Adrienne went silent, but her eyes kept
singeing
the executive.  Tim nodded reassuringly at the man.  "Look.  I only need the
room for a few minutes.  You can have it back after I get a few questions
answered."
     Without further provocation, the man squeezed toward the door.  Tim
smirked at
him, lowering his voice.  "It's not going to be pretty, I assure you."  With
one last
look at the plump carry-on bag, the man scurried into the corridor.
Once Tim had closed and locked the door, they exploded into laughter.
     "What the hell did you say to him?" Tim grinned.
     "I made it very clear that I needed him to get his ass out of here so I
could fuck
my husband."  She smiled, pleased with herself.  "It has a certain lilt to it
in
French."
     There was no time for subtleties.  The entire afternoon and the days
leading up
to it had been foreplay.  Adrienne unzipped his trousers and pulled out his
cock. 
She stroked it lovingly for her own pleasure, knowing he needed no priming. 
She loved the way it filled her hand, so warm and hard.  She wanted him in her
mouth, against her tongue, but there was no time.
     She stared into him, his cock tight in her grip.  "I need you inside me. 
Right. 
Now."
     Tim slapped the executive's briefcase off the chair, giving flight to
dozens of
documents.  Out of her shoes in an instant, Adrienne knelt on the cushion and
leaned forward, her cheek on the soft back of the chair, her head mashing the
blinds against the glass.  She hiked her dress up to her waist and wiggled her
behind at him, well aware of the view's influence.
     Her sheer, black stockings ended in wide, opaque bands high on her thighs.
 He
loved the way they hugged her legs, refusing to fall.  With all of the
schedules,
interruptions and obligations aside, the only barrier remaining between him and
his wife was her rumpled, blue panties.
     Fingers curled under the waistband, he pulled at them, surprised by their
resistance.  They clung greedily to her body, to its heat and wetness.  He
tugged
harder, working them down, uncovering her lovely ass.  He smiled, unable to
imagine being bored with her body.
     His eyes sipped in every delight: the smooth, sweeping curves; the pale,
little,
X-shaped scar; the subtle rose of her asshole; the full bloom of her pussy; the
soft, black down.  He wanted to taste her, to run his tongue through that
beautiful crevasse, but time forbade it.
     Adrienne spread her legs, and her fingertips appeared among her curls,
furiously
rubbing her clitoris.  Her eyes fell shut, and her mouth fell open, sounding
out
her pleasure.  Cock in hand, Tim watched her fingers flash, her panties strung
between her thighs like a little cotton hammock.
     "Give it to me already!" she half laughed, half croaked over her shoulder.
He shifted his feet until he stood directly behind her, the tip of his cock
leaning
against her asshole.  "Someday," he promised.
     "Maybe someday," she corrected.
     He lowered his cock and guided it between her lips, sliding into her with
remarkable ease.  The long afternoon of teasing and frustration had her both
obligingly wet and frugally tight.  They groaned at the pitiless pleasure of
it, the
sensations almost painfully luxurious.  The tiniest twitch made them gasp; they
were likely to die before they were done. 
     At her word, he pushed all the way in and stayed there, her warm,
quivering
cheeks mashed against him.  He leaned over her and kissed the top of her head,
his tie flopping out of his suit and tickling down her spine.  In reaction, her
back
arched, levering her ass against his hips, pushing him deeper than he had ever
been.  Groaning along with her, Tim slowly straightened, his tie sliding over
her
backside like some obscene tongue.
     "Give it to me," she whispered, turning up her accent.
     Hands clamped to her hips, he began to thrust in earnest, sending ripples
through
her ass.  Determined to savor every second, knowing they could not possibly
last
but a few minutes, he watched himself slide in and out of her.  He adored the
sight, the images that haunted him when he wanted her most.  The gentle,
rolling
"W" of her ass, his cock withdrawn and shiny.  Then, her behind quivering,
smashed flat by his hips.  Over and over again. 
     Prying her fingers from her clit, Adrienne grabbed his balls.  When his
breath
stumbled, she gave them a playful slap and chuckled through her own incessant
sighs.  As the whim struck her, she either tickled his balls with her wet
fingertips
or squeezed them roughly, making him wince with pleasure.
"Faster."
     Tim drove harder, making her moans stutter.  His thrusts drove her
forward,
bumping her head against the glass.  Out in the corridor, passers-by met the
window's rhythmic wobble with confused frowns.  The businessman paced
nervously, wondering what manner of violence was going on inside.
     All control, all hesitance forsaken, Tim slammed away at her ass.  He
loved the
muffled spanking sound of their bodies crashing together.  Adrienne adored it,
wetter and tighter with every soft slap.
     "You feel too good," he moaned.  "I'm going to come."
     "Yes.  Fill me.  Fill.  Me."
     Her pussy wrapped around him like ionized silk, soft and gentle yet
torturously
charged.  He had never felt her so wet.  She was drowning him, sweeping him
away.  He grimaced, filled with a delicious ache, and groaned in broken, fitful
breaths.
     His balls firmly in hand, she felt his come pulse out of him, spurting hot
and
think inside her.  Pent up for so long, it kept coming and coming, certain to
fill
her.  She loved it, ached for it.  Unable to hold out, she came, shuddering
against
the chair, crying out as though tortured.  From her scalp to her toes, every
nerve
buzzed, murmuring incoherently.
     Slumped over her, he hugged her and shared a few moments of exhausted
wheezing, of bittersweet trembling.  When he stood, she turned around in the
chair, her eyelids heavy, a grin strung from ear to ear.
     "Feeling better?" he asked, tousling her hair.
     "Perhaps."
     "Is your head still intact?" he asked, feeling guilty.
     She made a show of rubbing her head, feigning injury.  "No leaks as far as
I can
tell."  She looked at her watch, and her smile vanished.  "Shit."
     He zipped up and helped her to her feet.  A bit dizzy and wobbly, she
wriggled
back into her panties and hunted her shoes.  Tim fished through her bag and
slipped a wad of green cotton into his pocket.  Inspired, he fumbled noisily
with
his keys.
     "What are you doing?!" she rasped.  "We've no time!"
     Tim quickly worked the last of his keys loose and smiled at the swoop of
chrome
that hung from the empty ring.  He leaned over the desk and tucked the keychain
into the breast pocket of the businessman's blazer.  "So long, Rik."
     A tentative knock prompted them to slip into their masks again.  Hanging
her
purse on her shoulder, Adrienne strained to hold her frown in place.  Tim
opened the door and peeked out.  The executive looked fretful.  His eyes rolled
between the spilled papers and their flushed faces.  His voice came out as a
squeak.  "So?"
     Tim exuded cold control.  "Oh, I think we've done just about all we can
here. 
Sorry about the mess."  He grabbed Adrienne by the wrist and picked up the bag.

"Come on, Reine de Viande.  I'm sure we've got a cell in your size."  He tugged
her out of the office.
     The carry-on bag bumped into the man's knees, and he nearly had a heart
attack. 
Adrienne glared at him and then made a peculiar face as Tim's come suddenly
tickled its way into her panties.  The change made her look demented.
     "Have a nice flight," she smiled.  The man blanched and ducked into the
tiny
room, slamming the door behind him.  Tim and Adrienne glanced at each other
before hurrying down the corridor.
     "You're terrible," Tim laughed.
     "So spank me," she sneered.  "You're pretty horrible yourself.  'Reine de
Viande,'
indeed!  I get the chance to play a notorious terrorist, and the best you can
come
up with is 'queen of meat?!'"
     He shrugged.  "It's the only French I could remember."  She gave him a
dubious
look.  "Although, I know a little Belgian."
     She laughed.  "A-hem.  I'm as tall as you are, Hastings."
     "Fair enough, Poirot."
     On their way down, they passed the guy with the balloons, his free arm
around a
drowsy but contented brunette.  He smirked and nodded at them.  Clearly, he
had found what he had been looking for.
     The smile went out of Tim's eyes.  "Come on.  I have to get you on your
damn
plane before I come to my senses."
     "I hope it's left already."
     They stepped up their pace.  Tim smirked when he passed through the
detectors
without a sound.  Once on the concourse, they sprinted for her gate.  Adrienne
groaned, finding her plane still leered through the window.  The waiting area
was empty.  An anxious-looking attendant waved a few stragglers toward the
boarding tunnel.
     The real point-of-no-return had come.  Within thirty seconds, they hugged,
laughed and made their good-byes.  Despite the drunken, lingering pleasure,
they
shared a rich sense of release and loss.  The trip would be bearable at least.
When Tim finally let go of her, Adrienne shifted her feet and jerkily wiggled
her
hips.
     "Is that some kind of new dance?" he asked.
     "Hardly."  Between her own wetness and Tim's come, her panties were
ruinously
soaked.  The sensation was not entirely uncomfortable but certainly unique. 
She
rummaged through her purse and pulled out her boarding pass.
     "Wait," he said.  "You're probably going to need these."  He pulled a pair
of
green panties out of his pocket and stuffed them in her purse.
     She smirked and kissed him.  "Always the gentleman."
     "Get some rest on the plane.  And call me, dammit."
     "I will, damnit."  Taking up her bag, she wove through the maze and handed
her
pass to the attendant.  With a wistful smile and a cocked eyebrow, she
disappeared down the boarding tunnel
     As he walked away, Tim leaned over and picked up the little girl's
discarded
leaf, twirling it in his fingers.  He smiled down the concourse, laughing and
shaking his head.

-end


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