It is hard to sit. I left your side less than an hour ago and I cannot stay still. It isn’t the waiting for the plane. It isn’t the awful molded plastic seats. It is the hand prints you left on my ass before we left the parking structure.
The lot was mostly full as you drove us in, taking a ticket from the machine and winding your way up the levels. You found a place near the elevator, but did not allow me to leave the van as you pulled my luggage from the back. You opened the side doors and a simple command brought me through the van and kneeing on the edge of the doorway. You motioned and I turned, my back to you as I knelt.
I can feel each finger of your hand as I try to stay still. You had pushed me forward and pulled down my pants. My underwear was little padding against the two smacks you landed on me. Each cheek still smarts and feels warm even through my pants.
You pulled the underwear down and looked at me, my ass in the air as a family walked past, talking about their vacation. I knew they could not see me in the van, but it still made my stomach flutter thinking they may be able to tell what you were doing.
I gasped and bit my lip when I felt your fingers go into me. I thought you were going to fuck me right there and I could feel the heat of my face was almost as hot as my ass. You played with me making me hold back moans and then stopped. It was exquisite frustration.
You pulled my clothing back into place and rubbed where you had left your hand print. You let me come out of the van and I was unsteady and I almost tripped on the way to the elevator. I still am feeling little tremors as I sit here, trying to not show how your attentions excited me.
I don’t know how I am going to last the four hour trip home.
Thank you.
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