The Emirates Business Lounge at Dubai International Airport thrummed with the soft buzz of transit passengers, a luxurious oasis amid the desert heat outside. It was the crack of dawn—my layover after flying in from London, en route home to Auckland. I’d arrived early, jet-lagged but wired, and claimed a secluded corner seat with a Mimosa in hand. The champagne fizzed brightly against the orange juice, cutting through the fatigue as I watched the world’s elite drift by.
That’s when I felt her eyes on me.
She was at the table diagonally across from mine: long, sun-bleached blonde hair falling in loose waves over a white silk blouse that clung to every curve. The top two buttons were undone—deliberately—revealing the soft swell of her full breasts and the delicate lace edge of a bra that barely contained them. Her legs were crossed under a tight charcoal skirt, one high heel dangling playfully from her toes as she leaned toward her husband, laughing at something he’d whispered. He was tall, dark-haired, bearded in that effortlessly Nordic way, dressed in a linen shirt that stretched across broad shoulders. They looked like they’d stepped out of a Scandinavian design catalog—beautiful, relaxed, and radiating a quiet confidence that made the rest of the lounge fade into the background.
Our eyes met. Hers were pale blue, sharp with mischief. She didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled—slow, deliberate—and raised her glass of champagne in a tiny salute. I returned it, feeling the first spark of heat low in my stomach.
Minutes later, she was standing beside my table, champagne flute in hand.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her Finnish accent curling around the words like smoke. “My husband and I couldn’t help noticing you’re traveling alone. And you look like you know how to enjoy a good drink.”
Her husband—Erik—followed a step behind, carrying his own glass and a fresh bottle from the bar. He introduced himself with a warm handshake and an easy grin that said he was entirely on board with whatever his wife had in mind.
Her name was Anna.
We talked effortlessly. Travel, wine, the absurdity of 17-hour flights. They’d flown in from Helsinki, now heading to Auckland for their first Kiwi adventure. When I mentioned I lived there, Anna’s eyes lit up. “We’re heading there too,” she said, leaning in closer, her perfume—something light and floral with a hint of citrus—wrapping around me. “First time. We want to see everything… and maybe experience a few things we don’t have back home.”
Her hand brushed my forearm as she spoke, lingering just long enough to make the intent clear. Erik watched with quiet amusement, refilling our glasses without being asked, his gaze flicking between us like he was already imagining what came next.
By the time boarding was called, the flirting had turned electric. Anna’s fingers traced idle patterns on my thigh under the table. Erik leaned in at one point and murmured, “She likes you. A lot. And I like watching her when she’s like this.”
The confession hung in the air, deliciously filthy.
On the plane, fate—or seat assignments—put us all in the same pod of business class. Anna wasted no time. Halfway through the flight, after the lights dimmed and most passengers were asleep, she slipped out of her seat and into mine, a thick blanket draped over both of us like a shield. Her lips found mine in the dark—soft at first, then hungry, her tongue sliding against mine with a low moan she muffled against my mouth. Her hand slipped beneath the blanket to stroke me through my trousers. I was already hard, aching. She smiled against my lips when she felt it, squeezing gently.
Erik watched from across the aisle, his own blanket strategically placed, eyes dark with arousal.
The rest of the flight was a slow, torturous burn—deep kisses that left us breathless, fingers exploring under fabric, whispered promises of what would happen once we landed. I slid my hand up her thigh, pushing her skirt higher until I reached the damp lace of her panties. She was soaked. I circled her clit slowly through the fabric, feeling her hips rock subtly against my fingers. She freed my cock under the blanket, stroking me with long, firm pulls that made pre-cum bead at the tip and slick her palm. We edged each other for hours, never quite letting the other finish, savoring the tension.
By the time the wheels touched down in Auckland, the three of us were vibrating with need.
They had a suite booked at the Novotel, just minutes from the airport. “Come with us,” Anna whispered at baggage claim, her hand pressed possessively against my chest. “We’re not done with you yet.”
Erik smiled, already hailing a taxi. “In fact,” he added quietly, “we’re just getting started.”
The taxi ride was short, but Anna made it feel endless—her hand on my thigh, nails grazing higher with every turn, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered exactly what she wanted me to do to her. Erik sat in the front, chatting casually with the driver, but his eyes kept flicking to the rear-view mirror, drinking in every touch.
We barely made it inside the suite before the door clicked shut and Anna was on me. She pushed me against the wall, kissing me fiercely, her tongue demanding as her hands yanked my shirt open. Buttons scattered. I grabbed her ass, pulling her tight against my hardness, grinding slowly as she moaned into my mouth.
Erik poured drinks..whiskey for me, chilled white wine for her..then settled into the armchair in the corner, legs spread, already rubbing himself through his trousers as he watched.
Anna dropped to her knees right there in the entryway, unzipping me with eager fingers. My cock sprang free, thick and throbbing. She looked up at me with those pale eyes, licked her lips, and took me deep in one slow glide. Her mouth was hot, wet, perfect—sucking hard, tongue swirling around the head, hand pumping the base in rhythm. I groaned, threading my fingers through her hair, guiding her as she bobbed, gagging softly when I hit the back of her throat. Saliva dripped down her chin onto her blouse, darkening the silk over her breasts.
“Fuck her mouth,” Erik encouraged, voice low and rough. “She loves it.”
I did—thrusting gently at first, then deeper, watching her eyes water with lust as she took every inch.
We moved to the bedroom. I stripped her slowly, savoring every reveal: blouse falling away to expose heavy, perfect breasts with stiff pink nipples; skirt sliding down toned thighs; lace panties soaked through. Naked, she was breathtaking—smooth skin, trimmed blonde landing strip, pussy glistening and swollen.
I pushed her onto the king bed and spread her legs wide. I devoured her—tongue lapping broad strokes up her slit, circling her clit, sucking it between my lips until she writhed and begged. Two fingers curled inside her, stroking that spot that made her gasp my name. She came hard, thighs clamping around my head, juices flooding my mouth.
Erik fetched chilled water, handed it to her with a tender kiss on her forehead, then returned to his chair, stroking himself openly now.
I flipped Anna onto all fours and slid into her from behind in one long thrust. She was impossibly tight, hot, gripping me like velvet. I fucked her hard, hips slamming against her ass, the room filling with wet sounds and her cries. Her breasts swung beneath her; I reached around to pinch her nipples, making her clench even tighter around my cock.
We moved through every position, every surface:
Her riding me reverse cowgirl on the couch, ass bouncing as she ground down, Erik kneeling in front to hold her wine glass steady so she could sip between moans.
Me pinning her against the floor-to-ceiling window, the city far below, her palms flat on the glass as I pounded into her from behind, her breath fogging the pane.
In the huge marble shower, water streaming over us, her leg hooked over my arm as I drove deep, soap making our bodies slick and sliding together.
Back on the bed, her on her side, my cock buried in her while I spooned her, slow and deep, one hand rubbing her clit until she shattered again.
Between rounds, Erik was the perfect host. When we collapsed sweaty and panting, he brewed fresh coffee, brought it to us in bed with a smile. Later, as I had Anna bent over the desk, fucking her so hard the wood creaked, he slipped out to the hotel café and returned with gourmet sandwiches, fruit, and cold beers—setting the tray beside us like room service, then kneeling to lick her clit while I continued thrusting from behind. She screamed through another orgasm, trembling between us.
The final crescendo came on the bed. I had her missionary, legs over my shoulders, folding her nearly in half as I hammered deep. Her nails raked my back; her pussy fluttered and squeezed. “Cum inside me,” she begged, voice breaking. “Fill me up.”
I did—thrusting to the hilt and exploding, pulse after pulse of thick, hot cum flooding her. She came with me, milking every drop, her body shaking.
As I pulled out slowly, cum already leaking from her swollen pussy, Erik moved in without hesitation. He spread her thighs gently and buried his face between them, tongue delving deep to lap up the creamy mess I’d left. Anna moaned softly, stroking his hair, hips rocking against his mouth as he cleaned her thoroughly, swallowing every trace.
Then he turned to me. I was half-hard still, glistening with our combined juices. He took me into his mouth eagerly, sucking with devotion, tongue swirling to clean every inch. The sight of this strong, handsome man on his knees, worshipping my cock after I’d just claimed his wife, was almost enough to get me fully hard again.
We collapsed in a tangle of limbs—Anna curled against my chest, Erik spooning her from behind, his hand resting lightly on my thigh. The room smelled of sex, champagne, and satisfaction.
Outside, Auckland’s afternoon light filtered through the curtains. We had the whole day—and, it seemed, the whole trip—ahead of us.
Anna’s fingers traced lazy circles on my skin. “This is only the beginning,” she whispered.
I couldn’t agree more.
