Chapter 141: Flying
The first-class cabin’s private suite was a capsule of hushed luxury, the consistent drone of the engines a white noise that underscored a more urgent, wetter rhythm. Golden afternoon light, sharp and clear at thirty thousand feet, striped the queen-sized bed where Olivia lay, naked and arching, her fingers twisted in Ethan’s hair.
His world was heat and scent and salt. His tongue carved a deliberate, slow path up the soaked seam of her, from the tight, furled bud of her asshole—already glistening and winking with her anticipation—to the swollen, throbbing apex of her clit. She jerked against his mouth with a choked cry, her hips lifting off the mattress, trying to chase the pressure.
“Oh, god, right there, baby, just like that,” she moaned, her voice a ragged melody above him. Her other hand was outstretched, holding her phone steady. The screen showed the smiling, attentive face of Eleanor Cummings, Olivia’s mother, her eyes bright with vicarious delight. The phone was propped against a pillow, giving Eleanor a direct, intimate view of her daughter’s splayed thighs and the crown of her grandson’s head buried between them.
“He’s enthusiastic today, isn’t he?” Eleanor’s voice crackled slightly through the speaker, warm and utterly unperturbed.
Olivia laughed, the sound breaking into a gasp as Ethan dipped his tongue inside her, fucking her with it in short, shallow thrusts. “You have no idea, Mother. Paris… Paris was… oh, fuck, Ethan, yes… it was a revelation.”
Ethan’s hands slid up her trembling thighs, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her inner thighs to hold her open wider. He loved this—the complete vulnerability, the way her body yielded to his mouth, the taste of her, clean and musky and uniquely her. He listened to her talk, her words punctuated by hitches of breath, as he lavished attention on her clit, sucking gently, then flicking with the tip of his tongue.
“Tell me,” Eleanor prompted, taking a sip from a teacup visible at the edge of the frame. Her living room, lined with books, was a stark contrast to the aerodynamic luxury of the suite. “You were vague in your texts. ‘Busy’ isn’t a descriptor I accept from my daughter.”
Olivia’s head thrashed on the pillow. “We… we made a pact. An all-day thing. He could… ah!… use me. Whenever. However. No safeword.”
“Bold,” Eleanor said, her eyebrows raising appreciatively. “And did he?”
“Did he what?” Olivia panted, a smile playing on her lips even as her eyes squeezed shut. Ethan had moved lower again, his tongue tracing circles around her asshole, making her entire body tense like a bowstring.
“Use you, darling. Don’t be obtuse. It doesn’t suit you when you’re being devoured.”
Ethan pressed the flat of his tongue against her there, a firm, wet pressure. Olivia cried out, her back arching spectacularly. “Yes! He… we had breakfast. Room service. He was inside me the entire time. I rode him… slow… while we fed each other strawberries and bacon.”
“Literally inside you?” Eleanor’s tone was one of academic interest.
“Literally inside me, Mother,” Olivia gasped, her hand tightening in Ethan’s hair, not pushing, just holding on. “In my ass. Where he is now, god, I can feel his breath, it’s torment… we ate a full breakfast. Talked about old times. And the whole time, I was full of him. I could feel every little movement, every pulse.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I came twice just from clenching down on him while he talked about his stock options.”
Ethan grinned against her skin. He remembered. The subtle, constant orgasms that had rippled through her, unbidden, her inner flutters a secret conversation only his cock could hear. He moved back up, spearing her pussy with his tongue once more, drinking her down. She was soaking wet, her arousal slicking his chin.
“That’s my good boy,” she cooed, looking down at him, her eyes glazed. “Making such a mess of me. For Grandma.”
“Don’t call me that during,” Eleanor chided gently, but she was smiling. “It spoils the ambiance. Continue. Breakfast sounds delightful. Then what?”
“Then… we showered.” Olivia’s narrative was becoming more fragmented, her concentration split between the story and the sensations. Ethan was using his fingers now, two plunging deep into her pussy while his mouth attended to her clit. The squelching sounds were loud in the quiet suite. “He washed me. Every inch. Like… like a ritual. It was more intimate than anything. He was on his knees, Mother. In the shower. Cleaning me there… with such… nnggh!… such tenderness.”
“He’s a thorough young man,” Eleanor observed. “A quality in short supply.”
“And then…” Olivia’s breath hitched. Ethan had added a third finger, stretching her, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit. She was a symphony of tension, every muscle coiled. “The window. The big window overlooking the city. He pressed me against it. The glass was so cold… and he was so hot… and he fucked me. Hard. With the whole city right there.”
“Did anyone see?” Eleanor’s voice held a note of genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know. I don’t care.” Olivia’s voice was fierce now, raw. “He made me look. Made me stare at all those windows while he pounded into me. Told me to let Paris see. And I came. God, I came so hard I saw stars behind the city lights.”
Ethan remembered the feel of her climax, the violent, clamping contractions that had milked his own orgasm from him. He quickened the pace of his fingers, curling them to find that spongy spot inside her. He knew her geography intimately.
“And he came inside you,” Eleanor stated, not a question.
“He flooded me,” Olivia whispered, reverent. “For minutes. I felt it… this warm, endless pulse. Filling me up. It dripped down my legs for an hour afterwards. Every time I moved, I felt a fresh trickle. A reminder.” She was babbling now, losing coherence. “And then we just… sat. Held each other. And ached. And planned today. Oh, Jesus, Ethan, right there, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!”
Her legs began to shake. Ethan doubled down, his mouth sealing over her clit, sucking rhythmically, his fingers pumping in a steady, driving cadence. He could feel the telltale tightening, the inner quaking that preceded her undoing.
“He’s going to make you come, Livvy,” Eleanor said softly, leaning closer to her screen, as if to not miss a detail. “Let me hear you. Let me hear my daughter fall apart.”
That was all the permission Olivia needed. The permission, the voyeuristic audience, the skilled, relentless attention of her son’s mouth—it coalesced into a perfect storm. The orgasm detonated at the base of her spine and radiated outwards in scorching waves. Her cry was long, loud, and utterly unselfconscious, echoing in the soundproofed suite. Her body bowed off the bed, thighs clamping around Ethan’s head, her hands fisting in the sheets. The internal pulses around his fingers were rapid, intense, a frantic heartbeat. He kept his mouth on her, gentling his suction as she rode the peak, lapping softly as the tremors subsided into aftershocks.
She collapsed back onto the mattress, a boneless, sweating heap. Her chest heaved. She blinked slowly at the ceiling, a dazed, blissful smile on her face.
Ethan slowly withdrew his fingers, glistening and slick. He kissed the inside of her thigh, a soft, chaste gesture amid the carnage, then rose up on his knees beside her. He looked at the phone. Eleanor was applauding softly, a pleased smile on her face.
“Bravo, my dears. A magnificent performance. The narrative was particularly evocative. The window detail—chef’s kiss.”
Olivia laughed weakly, dragging the back of her hand across her forehead. “Thank you, Mother. He’s… he’s very good at his job.”
“He comes by it honestly,” Eleanor said with a wink. “His grandfather had a singular focus as well.”
“Mom,” Olivia groaned, though she was still smiling.
Ethan reached for a bottle of water on the bedside console, took a long swig, then offered it to Olivia. She propped herself on an elbow and drank gratefully, water trickling from the corner of her mouth. She was radiant in her depletion.
“So, the all-day pact,” Eleanor continued, seamlessly steering the conversation. “Is today the day? Or was Paris the experiment?”
“Tomorrow is the day,” Ethan said, his voice a little rough. He met his grandmother’s eyes on the screen. “Once we get home, she’s mine for the next 24 hours”
“Oho! An endurance run. I approve.” Eleanor settled back in her armchair. “And what are the parameters? Or is it a true free-for-all?”
Olivia answered, her voice regaining some strength. “True free-for-all. I am a living thing for his pleasure. For… what, twenty four hours? Something like that. No limits. No interruptions. Just… him. And me.”
“And me,” Eleanor added cheerfully. “Via this divine little window. Unless you’d prefer privacy?”
“No,” Ethan and Olivia said in unison. They looked at each other and smiled. The inclusion was part of the fabric, part of the strange, accepting universe they inhabited.
“Splendid. Consider me your… sympathetic audience. Your cheering section.” Eleanor picked up a leather-bound notebook and a pen. “I may take notes. For my memoirs. Heavily fictionalized, of course.”
Olivia giggled, setting the water aside. She spread her legs again, an open invitation. The view for Eleanor was once again explicit, her spent sex glistening, her body relaxed and pliant. “What next, baby?” she asked Ethan, reaching for him.
He was still painfully hard, tenting his soft cotton pants. He hadn’t come yet; today was about her, about his ownership, her surrender. But the edge was there, a constant hum.
He didn’t answer with words. He hooked his hands under her knees and pulled her swiftly down the bed, her shoulders sinking into the mattress, until her ass was perched at the very edge. He stood up, looming over her. He freed himself from his pants, his cock springing out, thick and flushed. He angled the phone on its pillow so Eleanor would have a perfect profile view.
“I think,” he said, his voice low, “let’s remind you what you are.”
He guided his tip to her entrance, already stretched and slick from his fingers and her climax. He didn’t push in. He tapped it against her, smearing the precum that beaded at his slit.
“And what am I?” Olivia asked, her eyes wide, fixed on his face.
“Mine.” He thrust forward, not with the slow, measured