Excerpt from Layover

Tonight we're en route to Bangkok, and the plug embedded in my ass makes every movement delicious agony. Bending over to place dinner trays on the passengers' tables is particularly tough. Lara, our purser, must have noticed my grimace. She asks if I was ill. I grin and make some joke about the hazards of foreign food.

It's one in the morning Thai time, ten AM in Los Angeles, by the time we check in. I'm exhausted yet wired. The narrow streets around the Montien Hotel are bright with neon and crowded with sweaty, scantily dressed bodies - both tourists and natives. My teak-floored room is shadowed, cool and smells of jasmine. I'd love to lie down, but the captain expects me at her door in half an hour. I'd never disappoint her.

I take a quick shower, avoiding my swollen dick except as necessary to get it clean. I leave the plug in place. I'd given myself an enema before boarding, as Emma had taught me, on the chance that she'd want me on this flight. My balls ache when I remember that night in KL, when she first demonstrated her preferred technique. I'd never voided my bowels while someone watched. I wanted to curl up and die of shame. Still, later, when she thrust her latex-sheathed fingers into my raw hole, I came so hard I practically passed out.

I'm at her door one minute before the prescribed time. I wait the required sixty seconds before inserting the key card. The captain cares about punctuality. The delay gives me an opportunity to ponder what she'll do to me tonight. My mind dredges up images so nasty they make me cringe. My erection twitches inside my loose pants. I've been swollen for so long, I can't remember what it feels like not to be hard.

Why am I here? Why do I want this? All-American superstud Andy Sentosa, fraternity president, star quarterback, dream lover and heart breaker? Why have I placed myself under the thumb of a plain spinster fifteen years older than I am, when I could have a dozen girls, younger and prettier? Why don't I just laugh in her face when she hands me one of her little black bags and tell her to find some other boy to torture?

Because...well, I don't understand why. It has something to do with the authority of her position, the only female pilot flying jumbos for Shambala. It's all tied up with the way she looks right through me, knowing what I fear - and want - before I do myself. For some weird reason, I want to prove to her I can take whatever she'll dish out. I want to please her, to coax out that tight, slightly mocking smile that tells me she's aroused, too.

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