Seatbacks and Tray Tables | Prequel to The Liberated Wife (3 page)

He waited until she left.  “Well, did you agree to it?”

“No. “ I took a big swallow of my drink and he added more mix to it and emptied the second bottle into it for me.

“So what happens now?”

“I don’t know.  I guess he’s going to do whatever he wants anyway so…”

“Interesting choices you have.”

“What do you mean?”

“Agree to an open marriage or blame yourself when he cheats again because you know he’s going to cheat again right?”

“Yes.  He said he’s already met someone.”

“Wow.  What an ass.”

“I know, right?”

“So, have you thought about what having an open marriage means for you?”

“Yes.  I’m giving my husband permission to sleep with other women.”

“And he’s giving you permission to sleep with other men, or women if you so prefer.”

“Um…no.  Just men.”

“Just men then.”

“But, I, well…I don’t think I’d ever do that.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t think so either.”

“What do you mean?”

“No man would rest well knowing you were in the bed of another man.  You’re not the type of woman who can do that.  You’d end up making a man fall in love with you and he’d do whatever it takes to
keep you.”

I took another gulp of my drink starting to feel warm. “That’s what he’s thinking?”

“Maybe.  Probably.”

I started looking out the window again.

“Are you married?”

“No.  I’m divorced.”

“Did you cheat?”

“No.”

“Did she?”  I looked at him.

“No.  But she wanted someone there all the time and my work d
idn’t allow me to be there all of the time so she wanted out to find someone else.”

“Did she?”

“Within six months.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.  I have women I have sex with.  Often.”

Fuck buddies I thought.  Why in the hell is he staring at me so intently? “Do you want to get married again?”

“Yes.”  He raised his glass and took a sip of his drink.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Because I think you’re beautiful.”

“Is this how you get women?”

“Yes.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“I have been since the moment you almost caught me looking at your ass at Starbucks.”

I caught my breath but didn’t look away. “I’ve never…”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

He put his hand on mine and that shock shit happened again.

“Do you feel that Taylor?”

“Yes.”

“That only happens when it’s going to be good.  Great even.”

“It’s happened to you
before?”

“Twice before.”  He turned my hand over and I felt warm from the drink and warm from his touch.  It was so sweet and the emotions pouring out of me were so intense that I felt the tears again because he was right.  Jim didn’t think
I had a choice.  He thought I was going to agree to it and then stay home and let it beat me to the ground like Cheryl’s sister except I don’t have a sister that I’d ever tell.  And the tears started again.  Slowly, as I finished my drink.

He used his other hand to pull out a handkerchief and used it to wipe my cheek and then handed it to me.  He was being so sweet.  So thoughtful.  I lifted his hand and put it in my lap thinking I won’t let Jim break me.  I looked over and saw that Christopher was staring at me again and I looked down to his now very large bulge.  He released my hand in my lap and palmed my thigh.  I pulled
my wrap up over his hand and moved his hand up my thigh until his thumb was in throbbing distance of my clitoris.  I didn’t know how his hand hadn’t melted I was so hot down there. And he moved his thumb closer, his fingers splayed and I closed my eyes and lifted my hips up into his hand and his finger found my center and lightly rubbed over it.  I groaned.

“Shhhhh Tomassina.”

I couldn’t look at him so I didn’t and he started moving his finger back and forth with slow but solid persistence and I squirmed, lifting my hips up in a mock grind you could hardly detect.  It was the most amazingly sweltering feeling all over my whole body and I felt the pressure building.  Winding me up making even my toes moist and hot as I couldn’t focus on anything but his finger, back and forth, sweeping slowly and hotly across my pussy and then it snapped and I opened my mouth silently as Christopher turned to me and captured my silent cry in his mouth kissing me ardently, on a plane.  On a plane I’ll get off in less than an hour never to see him again because he’s a stranger and my breathing slowed as he stopped kissing me and he pulled his thumb up to his nose and smelled me on his hand, his eyes dark.  I turned my head back to the window, as I couldn’t look at him.  I wanted to bury my head in my hands in shame and never look up again.  He pressed the call button and asked the flight attendant for two more drinks.  When she left he leaned over to me.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I didn’t say anything and kept looking out the window.  This time yesterday I was happily married.  Perfectly content with my life as it was, flaws and all, and today my husband wants permission to sleep with other women and I just let a stranger make me cum on an airplane where anyone could have caught us had they looked long enough.  This can’t be me.  I can’t do this.  I can’t do this to my brand.  I’m a brand.  I have people who depend on me and my brand to be constant.  I can’t have things out there about my husband sleeping around and me damn near fucking strangers on planes.

The
flight attendant brought our drinks and he mixed them again using his right hand for everything.  He handed me my drink and I downed it.  He topped it off again and I downed that too leaning into my seat.

Jim would never think that I’d do something like this.  We never talked about it but a major problem in our marriage is that he has this Madonna/whore complex when it comes to me.  He loves porn and would probably fuck anything with a beaver but me?  He
doesn’t like me to be overly sexual.  Says it’s odd.  I’m his wife.  He cherishes me.  Treats me like a Princess when really I’m screaming inside to be my husband’s dirty whore.  I snuck a look at Christopher’s perfect nose and he turned to me. 

“Are you okay?”

“How do I smell?”

“Fuck, don’t do this to me Taylor.  Please.”

“How do I smell?”  I leaned toward him.  “Does my pussy smell good to you?”

He closed his eyes and groaned.  “Yes.”  He lifted his thumb back up to his nose.  “It smells so good.  I want to put my nose in your pussy and lick you slick.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

And I pulled my wrap over to his lap under his tray and unzipped his pants.

“Taylor…” he growled.

“My pussy is so hot for you right now.” And I pulled his penis through the hole in his underwear with my eyes widening at the length and thickness of it in my hand.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.  I’m not going to let you get away from me if you push me over the edge like this.”

I licked my lips and he groaned again with his mouth closed looking into my eyes as I stroked him.  I lifted my hand and licked the tips of my fingers wetting them and placed it back on his large cock stroking him up and down, looking into his eyes.  Stroking him past that point and over that edge into my wrap.  I moved his still solid penis back inside the hole of his underwear and zipped his pants back up, pulling my wrap away carefully and folding it placing it inside the bag my magazines came in. 

Then I unbuckled my seatbelt and went to the bathroom where I wiped myself dry surp
rised at the amount of cum clinging to me.  I then wetted a napkin and added a dab of liquid soap to wipe myself and try to get rid of that musky, hot smell from my pussy.  I dried myself again and washed my hands really well before dabbing a cool, damp napkin to my neck to cool me down.  I looked at myself in the horrible airplane bathroom mirror and I cringed at how I looked swollen all over. 

Even the release of an orgasm didn’t remove the pain from Jim’s betrayal of our marriage vows.  I got sad thinking that even as I hadn’t given him an answer, my rec
ent actions had answered for him.  For me.  His Madonna was going to be game for it and I doubt if he was ready.  I didn’t know what this meant for us and our future but I figured it would all be orderly and polite as always.  Except for his hair that was always tussled boyishly consistently - like a bad boy with his shirttail out when it was tucked in not five minutes before.  I doubt if he was ready for what he’s done to us.  I doubt if I’m ready.

Using the napkin to open the bathroom door, I returned to my seat and noticed Christopher was gone.  He must have gone to the restroom in the back.  I consolidated our drink containers and hit the call button for the
flight attendant and she came and removed them and my bagel, which I hadn’t touched.

When Christopher returned to his seat he smelled fresh and clean.  He didn’t say anything and looked straight ahead capturing my hand in his and holding it firmly.

“Where are you staying in Miami?”

“The host hotel.”

“No you’re not.  You’re staying with me.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“Christopher…”

“Ladies and gentleman, as we start our descent, please make sure your seatbacks and tray tables are in their full locked and upright position.  Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed under the seat in front of you.  Please turn off all electronic devices until we are safely parked at the gate.  We know you have choices in airline travel so we thank you for choosing our airline.  We look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future.  Enjoy the beautiful Miami weather.”

And before you know it we’d landed and Christopher was still holding my hand.  He let it go when we were at the gate and we got our things.  He added my computer bag to his shoulder along with his and we de-planed. 

“I’ll take my bag now.” I said when we’d reached the terminal.

“I’ll carry it for you.”

“Um…”

“OhmyGod!  It’s Taylor Ansley!
” someone said excitedly to my left and I turned in the direction with a smile plastered on my face.

“Hi.  Yes.  It’s me.”

“What are you doing in Miami?  I’m such a major fan.  I read your blog every single day!  I used that Benjamin Moore paint you used in your foyer in my family room and I swear it as the best thing I’ve done to my house yet!”  She was a pretty blond woman wearing a Lily Pulitzer tunic, capris and boat shoes.

“Thank you so much.  They are sponsors so I will certainly let them know I met some of their fans.  Do you comment on the blog?”

“Yes.  I’m Ava’sMom.”

“Oh yes!  I’ve seen your name before.  Well, thank you so much and make sure you tune in next week.  I’m going to reveal what I did with that gentleman’s armoire I found at the yard sale a couple of months ago.”

“Oh I can’t wait!”

And then I walked off hurriedly with Christopher at my side and tried not to make eye contact with anyone putting back on my shades.

“So, blogging makes you famous?”

“Blogging makes you crazy.  And sometimes famous.”

“How big are you?”

“Pretty big I guess.”

“Don’t be modest.”

We walked out and a driver walked over to him.  “Mr. Reddick.  Nice to see you again
, Sir.”

“Well hello
, Vlad.  I only have this bag but we’re going to wait for my friend to get her bag.”  He said this as I searched for my name among the drivers.

“No need
to.  My driver is there.”  I pointed.

“You don’t need a driver. “

“I know I don’t need a driver.  I have a driver.”

He stepped closer to me smiling so that only I could hear what he had to say.  “I warned you on the plane what would happen if you pushed me over the edge.  I want you.  I want to bury my nose in your pussy and I want to fuck you over the side of my bed and then I want to fuck you from behind on the deck overlooking my private beach as the sun sets.  I want to fill you up with so much of my cum you gain weight on that perfectly toned body of yours.  I owe you.  You owe me. “

I gasped feeling that heat build up once again.  The driver with my name looked at me again and smiled, walking my way upon recognizing me.

“Ms. Ansley?  I’m your driver, Paul.”

I looked at him and then back at Christopher.

About the Author

Danica Boutté is an award-
winning writer who lives mostly inside of her head.  She started writing at a young age as a contributing editor of her school paper and has written everything from blog posts to articles to screenplays, short stories and books.  Having had a difficult childhood she cultivated escapism with characters, learning to create a life more appealing then the one she lived in.  It's this foundation that makes her writing so real, because of the existence of the storyline as if it were a movie playing in her head.

The Liberated Wife
 series is the first thing she's written under the pen name Danica Boutté - who is to her what Sasha Fierce is to Beyoncé
.