Tanya

The skirt stays on. That’s the rule I give you the second I walk in from the airport. I bend over the hotel desk in Mahipalpur, panties already pulled aside from the cab ride, and tell you I’ve been wet since take-off thinking about this. You don’t get romance. You get to shove in while the skirt is bunched around my waist and my name tag is still swinging. I like it fast and a little mean. Hair pulled, ass smacked, you telling me I’m just a layover slut who needed cock before she could go home. I push back and moan that yes, that’s exactly what I am. When you get close I reach under and rub my clit hard, cumming around you while I beg you to finish inside the uniform. Most men do — deep, messy, then they watch it drip down my thighs onto the skirt while I stay bent over, catching my breath, still dressed from the flight. I sort the payment only after I’ve fixed my lipstick and the skirt is straight again. While you’re still inside me or right after, we don’t talk numbers. If the thought of an air hostess escort in Mahipalpur letting you ruin her uniform before she even changes has you throbbing harder in my ass right now, send the hotel. I’ll come straight from the terminal.