The boardroom's fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across polished mahogany as Vox's screen-face flickered through another slide of quarterly projections.
"As you can see from the data, our technological infrastructure expansion into the Greed Ring has exceeded initial forecasts by thirty-seven percent." Vox's synthesized voice carried across the cavernous space, each word crisp and measured. His hand gestured toward the holographic display floating above the center of the table—charts and graphs rotating in three-dimensional space.
Valentino sprawled in his chair at the far end of the table, all four hands occupied. Two held his phone, thumbs scrolling through what looked like production schedules. Another twirled a cigarette between fingers while the fourth drummed an erratic rhythm against the armrest. Pink smoke curled lazily from between his lips, drifting upward to dissipate against the ceiling tiles.
Velvet sat across from him, her spine rigid against the leather backing. Her fingers moved across her phone screen in rapid swipes, the device held at eye level. The glow from the display illuminated her face in harsh blue-white tones. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and her free hand tapped against the table surface with increasing tempo.
"The integration of our surveillance network with the existing Pentagram City infrastructure will provide unprecedented data collection capabilities." Vox's screen shifted to display a map overlaid with glowing connection points. "Which translates directly to more targeted advertising and increased revenue across all three divisions of VVV."
Valentino's cigarette moved to his lips. He inhaled deeply, the cherry glowing bright orange in the dim lighting. Smoke poured from his nostrils as he exhaled, and his eyes never left his phone screen. His heel tapped against the floor—a staccato rhythm that matched the drumming of his fingers.
Velvet's thumb paused mid-swipe. Her head tilted slightly, eyes tracking something on her display. A small sound escaped her throat—something between a huff and a laugh—before her scrolling resumed with renewed intensity.
"The projected ROI for Q3 shows a compound growth rate that will position us to—" Vox's voice cut off abruptly. His screen flickered, the charts disappearing. His head swiveled toward Valentino, then Velvet, then back again.
The silence stretched. Valentino's phone emitted a soft chime. His thumbs moved across the screen, typing something. The cigarette dangled from his lips, ash growing longer at the tip.
Velvet shifted in her chair, recrossing her legs. The movement made her phone dip slightly before she readjusted her grip. Her heel began bouncing—a rapid, agitated motion that made her entire leg vibrate.
Vox's screen went completely black.
Then sound erupted—a piercing screech of feedback that seemed to come from every speaker in the room simultaneously. The noise climbed in pitch and volume, a wall of audio assault that made the table vibrate and the windows rattle in their frames.
Valentino's entire body jerked. His phone flew from his hands, clattering across the table. His cigarette tumbled from his lips. His wings flared wide—all four hands shooting out to grip the armrests. The chair tipped backward, wheels rolling across the floor. His heel caught on the table leg, momentum carrying him over. The chair crashed onto its side with Valentino sprawled across it, limbs tangled in a mess of coat and wings.
Velvet's phone launched from her grip, spinning through the air to land face-down three feet away. She was on her feet, hands pressed flat against the table, leaning forward with her shoulders hunched. "WHAT THE SHIT!"
The sound cut off as abruptly as it had begun. Silence rushed back into the room, broken only by the soft whir of the holographic projector and Valentino's labored breathing from his position on the floor.
"Mierda!" Valentino's voice came muffled from behind the overturned chair. His coat had tangled around one wing, and his legs kicked at empty air as he struggled to right himself. "What the fuck was that!"
Velvet's head snapped toward Vox, her hands still pressed against the table. "You—" Her voice climbed higher. "You absolute ASSHOLE! What is WRONG with you!"
Vox's screen flickered back to life, displaying his face with that perpetual grin. He straightened his bow tie with one hand while the other adjusted the lapel of his suit. "My apologies. Technical difficulties."
"Technical difficulties?!" Velvet's voice cracked on the second word. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
Valentino finally managed to untangle himself from the chair. He pushed it aside with two hands while the other two smoothed his coat back into place. His hat had fallen off, lying several feet away near where his cigarette had landed. He crawled toward both on hands and knees, wings dragging across the floor behind him.
"That was deliberate, pendejo!" Valentino snatched up his hat and cigarette, the latter now bent at an odd angle. He crushed it in his fist and tossed it aside. "You trying to kill us?"
"If I were trying to kill you, Valentino, you'd know it." Vox's synthesized voice carried a sharp edge beneath the usual smooth tones. His screen tilted as he looked down at where Valentino still knelt on the floor. "I was simply attempting to regain your attention since the quarterly financial projections apparently failed to hold any interest."
Valentino pushed himself to his feet, his movements sharp and jerky. He jammed his hat back onto his head with more force than necessary. "Your boring-ass numbers don't have anything to do with my division!"
Vox's screen flickered, the grin stretching wider. "These numbers affect all of us." His hand gestured toward the holographic display still rotating above the table. "Which brings me to my next point."
Velvet dropped back into her chair, her spine rigid. Her fingers reached for her phone where it lay face-down on the table.
"Our three departments need to work better together." Vox's synthesized voice carried through the room with renewed authority. "There needs to be more projects that all three of us contribute to. Synergy. Cross-promotion. Unified branding initiatives."
"Absolutely not." Velvet's hand closed around her phone, lifting it to eye level. "I'm not letting you two fuck up my—"
"I could not agree more."
The words came from Valentino. His four hands spread wide in a gesture of enthusiasm, wings rustling behind him as he straightened to his full height.
Velvet's head snapped toward him. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. Her phone lowered slightly.
Vox's screen went blank for a moment before his face reappeared. Frowning and confused. "You do?"
Valentino's hands moved—two pulling out his phone while the other two gestured expansively. His thumbs moved across the screen in rapid taps. "I mean exactly what I said, amigo. We should be collaborating more." More tapping. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "In fact, I have something to show you both."
His thumb pressed one final time. The motion was deliberate, purposeful.
A soft chime echoed through the boardroom.
Vox's screen flickered. A notification appeared in the corner—a file icon with Valentino's signature pink and red color scheme. The notification expanded, displaying text that read "New Media File Received."
"What did you—" Vox started.
A bolt of electricity erupted from Vox's screen-face. The crackling energy arced through the air, bright blue-white that left afterimages. It struck the large television mounted on the wall behind him with a sound like thunder compressed into a fraction of a second.
The TV screen blazed to life and all three turn towards it.
The television screen filled with the image of an airplane cabin. The overhead compartments pressed close to narrow seats arranged in tight rows. Dim lighting struggled against the darkness visible through small windows. A man occupied a center seat near the back—his shoulders hunched forward, his face drawn into deep lines of displeasure. His knees pressed against the seat in front of him, and his arms remained crossed tight against his chest.
"Fucking economy," the man muttered to himself. His head turned to look at the cramped space around him—passengers squeezed into adjacent seats, someone's elbow jutting into the shared armrest. "Can't even stretch my goddamn legs."
Movement in the aisle drew attention. A woman appeared, making her way down the narrow passage between seats. Her uniform was crisp—navy blue blazer over a white blouse, matching skirt that fell to just above her knees. A small name tag pinned to her lapel read "Skyla" in neat letters.
Her reddish-pink hair had been styled into an elaborate updo that resembled wings spreading from either side of her head, secured with a small propeller-like accessory that glinted under the cabin lights. Bright blue eyes scanned the rows of passengers as she moved, a practiced smile fixed on her face. The navy blazer fit snugly across her shoulders and chest, tailored to emphasize an athletic build beneath the professional exterior. The white blouse underneath showed at the collar and cuffs—crisp, pristine. Her skirt hugged her hips before falling to mid-thigh, revealing toned legs that moved with confident grace despite the cramped aisle.
As she moved her dark-blue boots with modest heels clicked softly against the floor, and her matching gloves that covered her hands gave out water to the different passengers still awake.
She stopped beside the man's row, her expression pleasant and attentive. "Good evening, sir. Can I get you anything to drink?"
The man's head turned toward her, his frown deepening. "No."
The word came out flat and sharp. His arms remained crossed, and his gaze moved away from her to stare at the seat back in front of him.
Skyla's expression shifted slightly—a small crease appearing between her eyebrows. Her head tilted a fraction. "Is there something wrong, sir? Is there anything I can do to make your flight more comfortable?"
The man's shoulders lifted in what might have been a bitter laugh. "Yeah, you can upgrade me to first class. Or better yet, get me off this sardine can entirely." His hand gestured around the cramped cabin. "Look at this. I can barely fucking breathe. The seat doesn't recline, there's no legroom, and I've got some asshole's bag shoved under the seat in front of me taking up what little space I had."
Skyla's grip on the water shifted. Her other hand moved to rest against her hip. "I understand your frustration, sir. Economy seating can be challenging, especially on longer flights."
"Challenging?" The man's voice climbed louder. "It's inhumane. I paid good money for this ticket and I'm treated like cargo."
Skyla's eyes remained fixed on the man's face for several seconds. Her lips pressed together, and one hand lifted to tap against her chin. The gesture looked thoughtful—fingers drumming in a slow rhythm while her gaze grew distant.
The man's eyes moved downward. His head tilted slightly, and his gaze traveled from Skyla's face to her legs. The navy skirt ended at mid-thigh, exposing toned calves that led down to the modest heels of her boots. His eyes traced upward again—slower this time, lingering on the curve of her thighs before moving back to her face.
Skyla's attention snapped back to the present. Her eyes tracked downward, following the direction of the man's gaze. Her head tilted, and she looked at her own legs, then back up to find his eyes quickly returning to her face.
A smile curved across her lips—different from the professional expression she'd worn before. This one carried a different quality, something in the slight arch of her eyebrow and the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
"Well," Skyla said, her voice dropping to something lower, "there might be something I can do to help with your... discomfort."
The man's posture shifted. His arms uncrossed, and his hands moved to rest on his thighs. "Yeah?"
"Mm-hmm." Skyla's hand extended toward him, palm up. "Why don't you come with me to the back of the plane? I think we can find a solution that will make the rest of your flight much more... enjoyable."
The man's hand reached out and closed around hers. His fingers wrapped around her gloved palm, and he pushed himself up from the cramped seat. His knees straightened with visible relief at the change in position.
Skyla's fingers tightened around his hand. She turned, her body angling toward the rear of the aircraft. Her other hand gestured down the aisle, and she began walking—her steps measured and deliberate despite the narrow passage. The man followed, his larger frame navigating the tight space between seats.
The man's eyes tracked downward as Skyla moved ahead of him. The navy skirt swayed with each step, the fabric shifting across the curve of her ass. Her hips rolled with the motion—a natural gait that became hypnotic in the confined space of the aisle. The modest heels added just enough height to make her legs look longer, the muscles in her calves flexing and releasing with each click against the floor.
The cabin had grown quiet. Most passengers slumped in their seats with eyes closed, heads tilted at awkward angles against windows or resting on inflatable pillows. A few overhead reading lights still glowed, but the majority of the space sat in darkness broken only by the dim emergency lighting along the floor.
Skyla's hand remained wrapped around his, her gloved fingers warm through the thin material. She led him past row after row of sleeping bodies, her pace steady and unhurried. The man's breathing had quickened slightly, his chest rising and falling faster as they moved deeper into the aircraft.
They reached the rear of the cabin. Skyla released his hand and moved to a narrow door marked "Crew Only." Her fingers worked the handle, and the door swung inward to reveal a small storage area. Metal shelving lined both walls, stocked with miniature bottles of alcohol, bags of pretzels, cans of soda and juice. A small counter ran along one side, barely wide enough for preparation work.
Skyla stepped inside, her body turning to face him. She gestured for him to follow, and the man moved through the doorway. The space was cramped—barely enough room for two people to stand without touching. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and the ambient noise of the cabin faded to a muffled hum.
The overhead light cast harsh shadows across Skyla's face. Her blue eyes tracked his expression, and that same smile from before curved across her lips. She took a half-step closer, closing the already minimal distance between them. Her hand reached out, fingers trailing along the front of his shirt.
"So," Skyla said, her voice barely above a whisper in the confined space. "Is there anything I can do to make the rest of your flight more comfortable?"
The man's throat worked as he swallowed. His eyes moved across her face, then dropped lower—tracking the line of her neck, the collar of her white blouse, the way the navy blazer framed her chest. His hands lifted from his sides, hovering in the air between them.
"Yeah," he said, his voice rough. "There might be a few things."
Skyla's fingers continued their path along his chest, tracing the buttons of his shirt. Her head tilted, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips again. "A few things? That sounds like it might take some time."
"I've got all night," the man said. His hands moved to her waist, fingers pressing against the fabric of her blazer.
"Well then," Skyla said, her fingers working the top button of his shirt open. "We should probably get started."
The man's hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer. The blazer pressed against his chest, and he could feel the warmth of her body through the layers of fabric. His breathing turned ragged, and his eyes tracked her fingers as they moved to the second button.
Skyla's hand paused. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and something shifted in her expression—the professional mask slipping away entirely to reveal something else underneath. Her fingers moved faster, working through the remaining buttons with practiced efficiency.
"You know," Skyla said, her voice dropping even lower, "I've been watching you since you boarded. The way you complained about everything. The way you looked at me." Her hand slid inside his now-open shirt, palm pressing against bare skin. "I thought maybe you needed something to take your mind off the cramped seating."
The man's hands moved from her waist to her hips, fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt. "You thought right."
Skyla's other hand moved to her own blazer, fingers working the buttons open one by one. The navy fabric parted, revealing more of the white blouse underneath. The material was thin—thin enough that the outline of her bra showed through, the lace pattern visible in the harsh light.
The man's eyes tracked the movement of her fingers. His breathing had turned to short, harsh gasps that filled the small storage space. His hands slid from her hips to her thighs, fingers pressing against the bare skin above her boots.
Skyla shrugged the blazer off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor behind her. The white blouse clung to her torso, the fabric stretched across her chest. Her hands moved to the buttons, working them open with the same efficiency she'd shown with his shirt.
"Tell me," Skyla said, her fingers pausing on the third button. "What exactly did you have in mind when you said 'a few things'?"
The man's hands moved higher on her thighs, pushing the navy skirt up as they went. His fingers found the edge of her underwear—lace, from the texture against his skin. "I think you know."
Skyla's laugh was soft and breathy. Her fingers finished opening the blouse, and she pulled the fabric free from where it had been tucked into her skirt. The white material hung open, exposing a navy blue bra that matched her uniform. The lace pattern was intricate, and the cups pushed her breasts together to create deep cleavage.
"Maybe I do," Skyla said. Her hands moved to his belt, fingers working the buckle open with practiced ease. The leather slid free, and she tossed it aside to clatter against the metal shelving. Her fingers found the button of his pants next, popping it open before sliding the zipper down.
The man's hands gripped her waist tighter, fingers digging into flesh through the thin fabric of her blouse. His breathing had turned ragged, each exhale hot against her face. He pulled at her skirt, yanking it upward until it bunched around her hips. Navy blue lace panties came into view—matching her bra, the same intricate pattern barely concealing what lay beneath.
Skyla's fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants, tugging them down along with his boxers. The fabric slid to his ankles, pooling around his shoes. His cock sprang free—already hard, the shaft thick and veined, the head flushed dark with arousal.
She stepped back slightly, her hands moving to the clasp of her skirt. The zipper hissed as she worked it down, and the navy fabric joined his pants on the floor. Her legs were bare now except for her boots and the lace panties riding low on her hips. The overhead light cast shadows across the toned muscles of her thighs and calves.
The man's eyes tracked every movement, his throat working as he swallowed. His hands reached for her, but she caught his wrists, holding them at his sides.
"Not yet," Skyla said, her voice carrying that same breathy quality. Her fingers released his wrists and moved to her blouse, shrugging it off her shoulders. The white fabric fell away, leaving her in just the navy bra and matching panties. The lace stretched across her breasts, the cups barely containing the soft flesh.
She took a step closer, her body pressing against his. Her hands moved to his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms. The fabric caught at his wrists before he shook it free, letting it fall to join the growing pile of clothing on the floor.
They stood there in the cramped storage space, the harsh light illuminating skin and lace and the obvious arousal between them. His cock jutted forward, already leaking precum that glistened at the tip. Her nipples pressed hard against the lace of her bra, visible through the thin material.
Skyla's lips curved into that same knowing smile. Her fingers traced down his chest, over his stomach, stopping just short of where his cock throbbed in the space between them.
"You know," she said, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "it's time for me to do my job as a flight attendant." Her eyes lifted to meet his, and the blue depths held something predatory. "Time to take care of all your needs."
Her knees bent, and she lowered herself to the floor in one smooth motion. The metal surface was cold against her skin, but she didn't seem to notice. Her hands moved to his thighs, palms sliding up the muscle until her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock.
The man's breath caught audibly. His hands moved to brace against the shelving on either side of him, knuckles white with the force of his grip.
Skyla's tongue darted out, the pink muscle tracing a slow path up the underside of his shaft. From base to tip, she followed the prominent vein with deliberate precision. The taste of salt and musk flooded her senses—sharp and masculine, mixing with the recycled air of the storage space.
Her lips closed around the head of his cock, and she sucked gently. The man's hips jerked forward involuntarily, pushing deeper into the wet heat of her mouth. A groan escaped his throat—low and guttural, echoing off the metal walls.
She took him deeper, her lips stretching around his girth as inch after inch disappeared between them. Her hand at the base stroked what her mouth couldn't reach, moving in rhythm with the bobbing of her head. Saliva gathered at the corners of her mouth, dripping down to coat her fingers and his shaft in slick wetness.
The overhead light cast harsh shadows across her face—highlighting the hollow of her cheeks as she sucked, the way her throat worked as she swallowed around him. Her other hand moved to cup his balls, fingers rolling the heavy sac with practiced skill.
The man's breathing turned to harsh pants. His head fell back against the shelving, eyes squeezing shut as sensation overwhelmed coherent thought. The wet sounds of her mouth working his cock filled the small space—obscene and loud, mixing with his ragged breathing and the occasional groan that escaped his throat.
Skyla increased her pace, her head moving faster. Her hand at his base tightened, stroking with more pressure. Her tongue swirled around the head each time she pulled back, then flattened against the underside as she took him deep again. The rhythm was steady, relentless, designed to build pleasure with mechanical efficiency.
His cock throbbed against her tongue, growing harder with each pass of her lips. Precum leaked steadily now, coating the back of her throat with bitter salt. She swallowed it down, her throat constricting around the head of his shaft.
The man's hands left the shelving and moved to her hair. His fingers tangled in the elaborate updo, disrupting the wing-like styling. The propeller accessory came loose, clattering to the floor beside them. Pink strands fell across her face, but she didn't stop. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and she held his gaze as she took him deeper—until her nose pressed against his pelvis and his cock filled her throat completely.
She held the position for several seconds, her throat working around him, before pulling back with a gasp. Saliva and precum connected her lips to his cock in thick strands that broke and fell across her chin and dripped onto her bra.
Skyla's hand wrapped around his shaft, and she pulled back completely. Her fist stroked him slowly—base to tip, twisting slightly at the head. She angled his cock downward, pressing the wet length against her cheek. The heat of it seared her skin as she dragged it across her face, leaving trails of saliva and precum.
"You like that?" Her voice came out rough, breathless. "You like watching your cock slide across my face?" She slapped his shaft against her other cheek—once, twice, three times. The sound echoed off the metal walls, sharp and wet. "Tell me how much you want to fuck my mouth."
The man's fingers tightened in her hair. "Fuck—yes. I want—"
"Say it." Another slap against her cheek, harder this time. His cock left a glistening mark across her skin. "Tell me exactly what you want to do to me."
"I want to fuck your throat." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Want to feel you choke on my cock. Want to—fuck—want to cum all over your face."
Skyla's lips curved into a smile. "Yes sir." She opened her mouth wide and took him back inside—deeper this time, until her nose pressed against his pelvis and her throat constricted around him.
Her knees shifted position. The balls of her feet pressed against the cold metal floor, lifting her ass up as her thighs spread wide. The lace panties stretched tight across her pussy, the fabric already damp with arousal. Her free hand slid down her stomach, fingers tracing the edge of the lace before sliding beneath.
The first touch of her fingers against her clit sent electricity shooting through her nerves. She circled the swollen bud slowly while her head continued its steady rhythm on his cock. Her mouth pulled back until just the head remained between her lips, then pushed forward again—taking him deep, swallowing around the intrusion.
Her fingers worked faster against her clit. The lace of her panties restricted her movement, so she yanked them aside with impatient fingers. The fabric dug into her thigh as she spread herself open, two fingers sliding through her wetness before finding that sensitive bundle of nerves again.
The man's hips began moving—shallow thrusts that matched the bobbing of her head. His breathing turned ragged, each exhale punctuated by a low groan. His hands tightened in her hair, pulling slightly, guiding her movements.
Skyla moaned around his cock. The vibration traveled through his shaft, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily. She took it all—the force, the depth, the way he hit the back of her throat with each thrust. Her fingers worked her clit in tight circles, pressure building low in her belly.
The cramped storage space filled with obscene sounds. The wet slide of her mouth on his cock. Her muffled moans. His harsh breathing and occasional curses. The slick noise of her fingers working between her legs. The metal shelving creaked as he gripped it for support, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back.
Her thighs trembled. The position made her calves burn, balanced on the balls of her feet while her fingers worked frantically between her legs. She could feel herself getting close—that familiar tightening, the way her pussy clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled.
She pulled off his cock with a gasp, her hand replacing her mouth to stroke him while she caught her breath. Saliva connected her lips to his shaft in thick strands. Her other hand never stopped its movement between her legs, fingers circling and pressing and sliding through wetness.
"Fuck, you taste good." Her voice came out wrecked, rough from having her throat used. She licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, her tongue tracing that prominent vein. "Love feeling you throb against my tongue. Love how hard you get for me."
She took him back inside, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked. Her head moved faster now, chasing both his pleasure and her own. Her fingers pressed harder against her clit, the rhythm matching the bobbing of her head.
The man's breathing turned desperate. His hips moved faster, fucking into her mouth with increasing urgency. The shelving rattled with each thrust, bottles clinking against each other. His hands fisted in her hair, holding her steady as he used her throat.
Skyla's eyes watered. Mascara ran in dark streaks down her cheeks, mixing with the saliva and precum coating her face. Her jaw ached from the stretch, but she didn't slow down. Her fingers worked frantically between her legs, pressure building toward that edge.
She could feel him getting close. His cock swelled thicker against her tongue, and his thrusts became erratic. The groans escaping his throat grew louder, more frequent. His balls drew up tight against his body, and she cupped them with her free hand, rolling them gently.
Her own orgasm approached rapidly. The tight circles on her clit, the fullness in her throat, the obscene sounds filling the small space—it all combined into overwhelming sensation. Her thighs shook harder, muscles burning from the awkward position.
She took him as deep as she could manage, her nose pressing against his pelvis. Her throat worked around him, swallowing repeatedly. Her fingers pressed hard against her clit, circling frantically as the pressure peaked.
The orgasm hit her like lightning. Her pussy clenched around nothing, wetness flooding her fingers as pleasure crashed through every nerve. She moaned around his cock, the vibration intense and sustained. Her eyes rolled back, and her free hand gripped his thigh for support as her body shook.
The man's control shattered. His cock pulsed against her tongue, and thick ropes of cum erupted down her throat. Hot and thick, flooding her mouth faster than she could swallow. Some leaked from the corners of her lips, dripping down her chin to join the mess already coating her face and chest. She worked to gulp it down, her throat constricting with each swallow, taking everything he gave her.
His hips jerked with the final pulses, cock still buried between her lips. She sucked gently, coaxing out the last drops before finally pulling back. Her tongue traced around the sensitive head, cleaning him thoroughly while he shuddered above her.
When she released him, a strand of cum and saliva connected her bottom lip to his cock. She licked her lips, breaking the connection, then used the back of her hand to wipe her chin.
"Fuck." The man's voice came out hoarse. His chest heaved with labored breaths, and his legs trembled slightly. His hands released their grip on her hair, moving to brace against the shelving for support. "That was... fuck."
Skyla remained on her knees, looking up at him through mascara-streaked eyes. Her lips were swollen and dark, glistening with the remnants of his release. The navy bra showed dark spots where fluid had dripped, and more streaks painted her neck and the upper swell of her breasts.
"You did such a good job." The man's breathing began to steady. His hand moved to cup her chin, thumb brushing across her wet lips. "You deserve a tip for that kind of service."
Her eyebrow arched. "A tip?"
"Yeah." His hand moved from her chin to grip her upper arm. "Stand up."
Skyla rose to her feet, her legs slightly unsteady after kneeling for so long. The cold metal floor had left impressions on her knees—red marks that would probably bruise. She stood before him in just her navy bra and the lace panties still pulled aside, her body flushed and trembling with residual arousal.
His hands gripped her shoulders, firm and commanding. He turned her around until she faced the metal shelving on the opposite wall. The bottles and cans stared back at her, their labels swimming slightly in her vision.
"Hands on the wall." His voice came from directly behind her, breath hot against her ear. "Push that ass out for me."
Her palms pressed flat against the cool metal surface. The temperature difference made her gasp—her skin still heated from exertion, the wall almost shockingly cold. She arched her back, pushing her hips backward. The position made her ass stick out prominently, the lace panties still yanked aside to expose everything.
She heard him drop to his knees behind her. The sound of fabric rustling as he positioned himself. Then his breath—hot and deliberate—ghosted across her exposed pussy.
The first touch of his tongue made her entire body jerk. He licked a long, slow stripe from her clit up through her folds, tasting the wetness that had gathered there. The flat of his tongue pressed firmly, applying pressure that made her thighs shake.
"Oh fuck—" The words burst from her throat before she could stop them. Her fingers curled against the metal wall, nails scraping uselessly for purchase.
His hands gripped her ass cheeks, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He spread her wider, his face pressing deeper between her legs. His tongue found her clit again, circling the swollen bud with deliberate precision. Not too fast, not too slow—just steady pressure that made heat coil tight in her belly.
A moan escaped her lips—high and desperate. Her hips rolled backward, seeking more contact, more pressure, more anything. His tongue obliged, flattening against her clit before sliding lower to dip inside her pussy. The wet muscle pushed into her entrance, and she clenched around the intrusion instinctively.
His fingers kneaded her ass roughly. The pressure bordered on painful—not quite crossing the line but dancing right at the edge. He squeezed and groped, palms sliding across the curves before gripping hard again. The contrast between his rough hands and his skilled tongue created sensations that made coherent thought impossible.
She felt him pull back slightly, his breath coming in harsh pants against her wet flesh. Then his hand lifted—
The slap echoed in the cramped space. Sharp and sudden, his palm connected with her right ass cheek with enough force to make her entire body jolt forward. The sting bloomed across her skin, hot and immediate.
"Fuck!" Her voice cracked on the word. Her fingers pressed harder against the wall, trying to brace herself.
Another slap, this time on her left cheek. The impact sent vibrations through her entire body, and she felt her pussy clench around nothing. The combination of pain and pleasure made her head spin.
His face buried itself between her legs again. His tongue worked her clit with renewed intensity, circling and pressing and flicking in patterns that made her thighs tremble. His hands never stopped their groping—squeezing and kneading her ass while his mouth devoured her pussy.
Her breathing turned to short, desperate gasps. Each exhale came out as a moan or whimper, sounds she couldn't control even if she wanted to. The cold metal under her palms helped ground her, gave her something solid to focus on while pleasure built with terrifying intensity.
Another slap—harder this time. The sting radiated outward from the impact point, mixing with the heat already burning through her nerves. Her hips jerked backward involuntarily, pushing her pussy harder against his face.
He took the invitation eagerly. His tongue pushed inside her again, fucking her with the wet muscle while his nose pressed against her from behind. The angle let him reach deeper, and she felt herself getting wetter—coating his face with her arousal.
His tongue pushed deeper, forcing its way inside her as far as the muscle could reach. The wet heat clenched around him, her inner walls pulsing with need. He held the position for a moment—nose pressed against her, face buried completely between her ass cheeks—then his lips sealed around her pussy.
He sucked hard.
The suction pulled her lips into his mouth, his tongue still working inside her. The combination of sensations—the pressure, the heat, the relentless attention to every nerve ending—shattered what little control she had left.
Her orgasm hit like a freight train. Her entire body went rigid, back arching so severely it bordered on painful. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly against the metal wall as her pussy clenched rhythmically around his tongue. The sound that tore from her throat was raw and primal—too loud for the small space, definitely too loud for a plane full of sleeping passengers.
Wave after wave crashed through her. Her thighs shook violently, and if his hands hadn't been gripping her ass so tightly she would have collapsed. Wetness flooded his mouth and coated his face, dripping down his chin as he continued sucking, prolonging every pulse of pleasure.
When the final tremors subsided, he released her. His hands on her hips turned her around—not gently, but not rough either. Just purposeful. She stumbled slightly, her legs still unsteady, and found herself facing him.
He stood now, looking at her with an expression that made her breath catch all over again. His face was a mess—her arousal coating his chin, his cheeks, even his nose. His eyes tracked across her body with obvious appreciation. The navy bra with its damp spots. The lace panties still pulled aside. The flush spreading across her chest and neck. The way her breasts heaved with each labored breath.
His cock had hardened again—already fully erect and pointing toward her like an accusation. Precum leaked from the tip, and she watched it drip onto the floor between them.
His hands moved to her hips, fingers digging into flesh. He walked her backward until her ass hit the edge of the small counter running along one wall. The metal was cold against her skin, making her gasp.
He didn't ask permission. His hands gripped her thighs and lifted, spreading her legs as he positioned her on the counter's edge. The height was perfect—lined her up exactly with his cock. Her hands braced behind her on the counter, supporting her weight as he stepped between her spread thighs.
The head of his cock pressed against her entrance. He held there for a moment, letting her feel the pressure, the promise of what was coming. Then his hips drove forward.
He filled her completely in one thrust. The stretch was immediate and intense—her pussy still sensitive from her orgasm, every nerve ending firing as his thick shaft pushed deep. Her head fell back, hitting the metal shelving behind her with a soft thud she barely registered.
"Fuck—" The word came out strangled. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter hard enough to make her knuckles white.
He pulled back until just the head remained inside her, then slammed forward again. The force rocked her entire body, bottles rattling on the shelves around them. He set a brutal pace immediately—no building up, no easing into it. Just hard, deep thrusts that made the counter dig into her ass and her breasts bounce with each impact.
The small space amplified every sound. The slap of flesh against flesh. Her gasps and moans. His harsh breathing. The wet slide of his cock pounding into her pussy. The metal shelving creaking under the assault.
His hands moved from her hips to her thighs, pushing them wider apart. The new angle let him go deeper, hitting spots inside her that made stars burst behind her eyes. One of his hands slid higher, fingers finding her clit. He rubbed in tight circles—matching the rhythm of his thrusts, adding another layer of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her completely.
She tried to stay quiet. Tried to remember they were on a plane full of people. But the sounds kept escaping—whimpers and gasps and full-throated moans that she couldn't control. Her head thrashed from side to side, pink hair sticking to her sweaty face.
His other hand moved to her bra, yanking the cups down roughly. Her breasts spilled free, nipples hard and aching. He groped the soft flesh, fingers squeezing and kneading before pinching one nipple hard enough to make her cry out.
The orgasm built faster than she expected. The combination of his cock filling her, his fingers on her clit, his hand on her breast—it all coalesced into overwhelming pressure. Her pussy clenched around him, inner walls fluttering as she approached that edge again.
"Gonna—fuck—gonna cum again—" The words tumbled out between gasps. Her thighs tried to close around his hips but his body kept them spread wide.
His pace increased impossibly. His hips moved faster, harder, driving into her with force that made the entire counter shake. His fingers pressed harder against her clit, rubbing frantically.
She shattered. Her second orgasm tore through her with even more intensity than the first. Her back arched off the counter, breasts thrust forward as her entire body went rigid. Her pussy clamped down on his cock like a vice, pulsing rhythmically as pleasure whited out her vision.
He fucked her through it. Didn't slow down, didn't ease up. Just kept pounding into her clenching pussy while she writhed and gasped and made sounds that were barely human.
When she finally came down, her body felt like liquid. Her muscles had turned to jelly, and only his hands on her kept her from sliding off the counter onto the floor.
s hands slid from where they'd been supporting her to grip her waist. The movement was decisive—no warning, just action. He pulled her forward off the counter, her body slipping against his as her feet dangled in the air for a moment before finding the floor.
Before she could fully register the change, he spun her around. Her back pressed against his chest, the heat of his skin searing through the sweat coating her spine. His hands moved to her thighs, gripping just above her knees. He lifted making her stomach drop.
Her legs spread wide as he pulled them apart, the position forcing her to reach back. Her arm wrapped around his head, fingers tangling in his hair for balance. The angle left her completely exposed, completely vulnerable. She could see everything in the reflection of the metal door—her legs spread obscenely wide, held up by his hands, her pussy dripping and swollen.
The head of his cock pressed against her entrance again. Then he lowered her down onto it, gravity and his strength combining to impale her completely. The angle was different—deeper somehow, hitting places inside her that made her vision blur at the edges.
He didn't pause. His hips moved immediately, thrusting up while his hands controlled her descent and rise. The rhythm was relentless, each impact sending jolts through her entire body. She could feel every inch of him sliding through her oversensitive flesh, every ridge and vein creating friction that bordered on too much.
His mouth found her neck. Lips pressed against her pulse point, then his tongue traced the line of her throat. The wet heat contrasted with the cool air of the storage space, making goosebumps erupt across her skin. His teeth scraped lightly before his lips sealed around the spot and he sucked.
"Oh fuck—" The moan tore from her throat before she could stop it. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling slightly. The position gave her no leverage, no control. She could only hang there, held up by his strength, taking everything he gave her.
His pace increased. The hands on her thighs gripped harder, fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. He lifted and lowered her faster, using her body's weight to drive her down onto his cock with brutal force. The wet sounds of their joining filled the cramped space, mixing with her desperate gasps and his harsh breathing against her neck.
His mouth moved lower, sucking and biting a path down to where her shoulder met her neck. Each mark he left throbbed in time with her pulse, the slight pain mixing with overwhelming pleasure until she couldn't distinguish between them anymore.
Her free hand reached down, fingers finding her clit. She rubbed frantically, chasing another orgasm that approached with terrifying speed. The position left everything exposed, accessible. She could feel his cock sliding in and out of her, could feel the stretch, the fullness, the way her body struggled to accommodate him at this angle.
"Please—" The word came out broken. "Please, I need—"
His teeth sank into her shoulder—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her entire body jolt. The sharp sensation combined with her fingers on her clit and his cock pounding into her, and she felt herself reaching that edge again.
Her thighs trembled in his grip. The muscles burned from being held in such an unnatural position, but the discomfort only added to the overwhelming assault on her senses. Everything was too much—too intense, too deep, too fast.
His mouth released her shoulder, moving back up to her ear. His breath came in hot pants against the sensitive skin. "Cum for me," he growled, and the command in his voice sent electricity shooting down her spine.
Her fingers pressed harder against her clit, rubbing in desperate circles. His cock drove deeper, hitting that spot inside her that made rational thought impossible. The pressure built and built, coiling tighter with each thrust until—
She came with a scream that echoed off the metal walls. Her pussy clenched around him rhythmically, trying to pull him deeper even as her body convulsed in his grip. Her vision whited out completely, every nerve ending firing at once as pleasure crashed through her in waves that seemed endless.
He didn't stop. Kept fucking her through the orgasm, prolonging each pulse of sensation until she thought she might actually pass out. His hands held her thighs spread wide, giving him complete access to use her body exactly how he wanted.
When the waves finally subsided, she hung limp in his grip. Her arm around his head was the only thing keeping her upper body from collapsing forward. Sweat dripped down her face, mixing with the tears that had leaked from the corners of her eyes.
His pace changed—becoming more erratic, less controlled. She felt his cock swell thicker inside her, felt the tension in his body as he approached his own edge. His fingers dug into her thighs hard enough to make her gasp, but the sound came out weak and breathless.
A few more brutal thrusts and he went rigid. His cock pulsed inside her, flooding her pussy with heat. She felt each pulse, felt him filling her completely. His breath came in harsh pants against her neck, and his grip on her thighs loosened slightly as the tension drained from his body.
They stayed like that for several moments—her impaled on his cock, held up by his weakening grip, both of them struggling to catch their breath. The storage space felt impossibly hot now, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat.
Finally, his hands lowered her legs. Her feet found the floor, but her knees buckled immediately. Only his arm around her waist kept her upright. His cock slipped out of her, and she felt the mixture of their releases begin dripping down her inner thighs.
"Fuck," he muttered against her hair. His chest heaved against her back, each breath moving through her body. His arm remained wrapped around her waist—the only thing preventing her from collapsing entirely.
She turned in his grip, her legs still unsteady beneath her. Her body pressed against his, sticky with sweat and other fluids. When she tilted her head back to look up at him, he shifted his hips forward. His cock—softening now but still thick—rested against her forehead. The weight of it pressed down on her skin, and she could feel the mixture of their releases coating her face, dripping down to mix with her ruined makeup.
The mascara had run in dark streaks down her cheeks. The carefully applied foundation was smeared and uneven. Her lips were swollen and dark, the lipstick long since kissed away or smudged beyond recognition. She looked thoroughly used, thoroughly wrecked.
"So," she said, her voice hoarse and rough. "How's your flight going now?"
His chest expanded with a deep breath, and when he exhaled, satisfaction colored every word. "Much better. Actually, it's fucking excellent now." His hand moved to her hip, fingers tracing idle patterns on her skin. "Voxtech Airlines really knows how to take care of their passengers. Best service I've ever experienced."
A smile curved across her ruined lips. "I'm so glad to hear that." She pressed closer against him, her breasts flattening against his chest. "No airline does customer service quite like VA. We're committed to making sure every passenger has an... enjoyable flight."
The television screen filled with sudden movement and color. The image of Skyla and the man faded, replaced by sleek graphics and pulsing electronic music. Bold text appeared across the screen:
VOXTECH AIRLINES Where Every Flight is First Class
The boardroom fell into absolute silence.
Valentino leaned back in his chair, all four hands spreading wide in a gesture of pride. His grin stretched across his face, sharp teeth glinting under the fluorescent lights. Pink smoke curled from between his lips as he took a long drag from his cigarette.
Vox's screen remained completely blank. No expression, no static, nothing. Just an empty black void where his face should have been displayed. The silence from his end of the table stretched longer than comfortable.
Velvet's phone had lowered to the table surface. Both her hands pressed flat against the mahogany, fingers spread wide. Her mouth had fallen open slightly, and her eyes—usually sharp and calculating—looked distinctly glazed.
"What..." Velvet's voice came out quiet, uncertain. "What the fuck did we just watch?"
Vox's screen flickered once. Twice. Then his face reappeared, but the perpetual grin was gone. His expression showed something between confusion and dawning horror. "Valentino." His synthesized voice carried a strange quality—like he was processing information too disturbing to fully comprehend. "When exactly did you film that?"
Valentino's grin widened further. He took another drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke pour from his nostrils in twin streams. "Last week. Got a new girl and everything.
Vox's screen flickered through several expressions in rapid succession. His hands moved in sharp, agitated gestures. "There's one small problem with your collaborative vision, Valentino."
Valentino's grin didn't falter. He took another drag from his cigarette, smoke curling between his teeth. "What's that, amigo?"
"Voxtech doesn't have an airline!" Vox's synthesized voice climbed in volume, the words crackling through the speakers embedded in the boardroom walls. "We don't operate planes! We don't have routes! We don't have any aviation infrastructure whatsoever!"
Valentino's lower hands spread in a dismissive gesture while his upper hands gestured with the cigarette. "So start one. You're always going on about expansion and infrastructure. Here's your opportunity."
"Start—" Vox's screen went completely red for a moment before his face reappeared, the jaw tight. "Sinners can't leave Pride, why would we start an airline!" His voice had risen to something close to a bellow, the synthesized tones distorting slightly. "There's no reason to have an airline when your entire customer base is trapped in one location!"
Velvet's hands moved with sudden purpose. She snatched her phone from the table surface, thumb swiping across the screen. The device angled toward where Vox's holographic form gestured wildly, capturing every moment.
Valentino noticed the recording. His grin stretched wider, sharper. "You're just mad because you didn't think of it first, pendejo." He leaned forward in his chair, all four hands spreading wide. "Imagine the possibilities—exclusive content filmed at thirty thousand feet, the thrill of the forbidden—"
"You just want an excuse to film pornography on a plane!" Vox's screen flickered between expressions too fast to track. "This has nothing to do with collaboration or synergy or any actual business strategy!"
Valentino pressed one hand to his chest, his expression shifting to mock offense. The cigarette dangled from his other hand, ash growing longer at the tip. "I'm hurt, Vox. Truly wounded." His voice dripped with theatrical dismay. "Here I am, trying to be a team player after my recent... disagreement with our dear Velvet, and you accuse me of such base motivations."
Velvet's phone remained raised, capturing every moment. Her lips had curved into something that might have been a smile as the two let each other have it.
Vox screen flickered rapidly, expressions cycling too fast to follow. "—his is exactly why strategic planning sessions are necessary! To prevent ridiculous proposals like this you stupid… AHHHH!"
Vox turned sharply.
"Impossible logistics," Vox muttered, his synthesized voice dropping to something that might have been meant as private but carried clearly through the speakers. "Zero market viability. Complete waste of resources." His form reached the door. "Fucking pornography on planes. As if that's a legitimate business expansion..." Vox trailed off as he left the room. The sudden absence made the boardroom feel larger, quieter except for—
Laughter.
Velvet's shoulders shook first, then the sound escaped her throat—genuine, uncontrolled laughter that echoed off the mahogany walls. Her phone remained raised, still recording, but her other hand pressed against her mouth in a failed attempt to contain the sound.
Valentino's own laughter joined hers—deeper, rougher around the edges from the cigarette smoke. His wings rustled with the movement, and his hands moved to grip the armrests of his chair. "Did you see his face when I suggested he start an airline?"
"The red screen!" Velvet managed between gasps. "He went completely red!" Her phone finally lowered to the table as her laughter intensified. "And the muttering! 'Fucking pornography on planes' like we just insulted his mother!"
They burst out laughing again and even though he was not there they knew Vox could hear it.