Gabbys Homecoming

Gabrielle stepped off the evening flight from Montreal and strode into the waiting room of LaGuardia Airport, aiming for the cab stand to catch a ride into midtown. Then, a hand touched her arm.

"Excuse me, but I have a question, Miss...?"

"Lacorde," she answered. This man stopping her could only be authority, the asshole TSA or some cops.

"Miss Lacorde, I have a simple question. Just take a moment. Would you come with me and take off your clothes? It will be worth twenty dollars for your time."

She stepped back, astounded. "What do you think I am? A whore?" She stood tall and willowy at five-foot nine, with a waterfall of sleek black hair flowing over her shoulders. She braced her shoulders under the trim blue suit and shifted the carry-on bag. Thrusting out her breasts had intimidated many men.

This man was short enough that she stared horizontally into his dark eyes. He had a full head of black hair with little sweeps of gray, but was stocky, like a beer keg. Maybe thirty thirty-five years old. Big ears and a long nose.

Merde

! What the fuck was this guy thinking, hitting on her.

He smiled, not in the least disturbed. "What if I gave you," and he pulled out a roll of bills, "two thousand dollars? Would that change you mind?"

Gabrielle's mouth dropped open. Two thousand for taking off her clothes, something she did every night before she went to bed? "Two thousand." She wanted to confirm the agreement. To make sure she had heard right.

"I am on my way to see my fiancé," she said. "In Manhattan. He is expecting me."

"I understand." The man shrugged his shoulders in a gesture she recognized. "It will not take long, if you will follow me."

Gabrielle hesitated. Her dinner with Andre wasn't until eight o'clock. She would see him at the hotel. He would want to fuck her before she even had a drink. Andre was a prick, but a very rich prick. Fiancé, ha!

"Follow you to where?"

"A room. I have a key. I am an artist. I make pictures that sell for thousands of dollars. The airport has given me a commission."

"Pile on

le bois sec

," she said in Franglais. "Let's move."

He took her arm — the lower part, indicating he didn't possess her as a lover might, but as a possession. His grip was strong and she smelled something — a man scent that intrigued her, this barely acceptable man who seemed so in charge of everything.

"I remind you I have an appointment. And you said two thousand."

He only smiled and unlocked one of the anonymous doors that filled every airport, guiding her forward. Inside was an office without desks, just two chairs. "I think you can put your clothes on that chair, but the carpet seems very clean."

"Two thousand?" she asked.

"Of course. If you will let me, I'll take your jacket," and before she could object, he had slipped the silk jacket off her shoulders. "And the skirt."

This didn't faze her. She was used to Andre ripping her clothes off, screwing her in less than three minutes and then getting up to go to the

salle de bain

.

"Gabby, you have lovely breasts. They are like...."

"My name is Gabrielle.

Pas de

Gabby! And your name?"

"Oooh, sorry...Gabrielle. My name does not matter. Now your bra and panties, if I may."

"Your fingers are cold and clumsy." She pushed him away, unhooked her bra and kicked off her heels. It felt deliciously

outré

to feel the air conditioning waft over her nipples. She waited for this man to make his move before dropping her panties. If a woman loses her pussy, she loses everything, Grandmamma had said back in Trois Rivieres.

"Yes, but part of me is very hot. Let me show you."

Gabrielle inhaled sharply as the stranger dropped his pants and shorts. He had an immense cock, hanging limply like a dog sleeping on a porch until aroused.

"Ah, Mary and Jesus, you have a big thing. Maybe

je

prend le

heart attack'"

"I am very proud of him. And, he knows all kinds of tricks. Let me show you." As he talked, he dropped his clothes to the office floor.

Gabrielle crossed her arms over her breasts and kept her knees close together. "So, I am naked. You want to — what? — take my picture?

Quel drag

. Where is your camera?"

"No, my dear, we are going to make love. I am an artist of fucking. I try to fuck at least one woman in every country, and you are number forty-four." He reached over and pulled her bikini panties down her white thighs to her ankles.

"You didn't say anything about fucking!"

"I saw it in your eyes, Gabby. Yes, I think you were called Gabby before you became so grown-up. So, close those eyes.... Close them! Open your legs and show me the pink inside your black bush."

"I don't think we.... I am not sure we should...." She couldn't finish her thought before his mouth had gone to her bush and a wet tongue parted her lips. Gabrielle felt the tongue enter her, beginning to explore, and she inhaled sharply. Two beefy hands went to her hips and then she was forced backward, gently, onto the carpeted floor of the office. She smelled man sweat and shampoo or scent. She felt his hairy chest cover her and the hands that grasped her ass. Now, she couldn't —

wouldn't

— open her eyes if she wanted to. What was happening was happening, and she had gone too far to try changing the event.

Unconsciously, she parted her knees and felt this man probe to find an entrance between her legs. Ah, Grandmamma, she thought, I am losing everything if this man gets inside my body! Now, she thought, he is going to

plower mon

driveway

Then the pressure came, hard and a little painful, as he pushed up against her most tender part and thrust himself inside her. It was a battering ram that was unlike even Andre's inept lovemaking. A spark of pain ran through her body and then the heavy man on her stomach was completely inside her, probing deeper into her guts. The hands were claws gripping her bubble ass and pulling her to him.

Unconsciously, she began responding — not wanting to give in to this mercenary

bâtarde

, but unable to keep her body's nervous system from responding to the sliding sensation of his manhood entering and retreating, again and again. Perspiration began dampening her forehead and then her breasts and stomach grew wet with sweat — hers and his, mixing in a slippery mixture as their loins and bellies slapped against each other.

She found herself exhaling noisily in an

oof oof

that matched his thrusts inside her vagina. The breaths came faster and anticipation caught in the back of her throat.

"Are you done yet?" The words were exhaled rather than spoken. And yet, a part of her wasn't ready to finish. A coal deep within her pelvis was glowing as he fanned it into life with his thrusts. She found herself being consumed by a heat growing from somewhere deep inside. Her brain — a small part of which had been counting the anticipated money — was coming unraveled.

She felt her wrists being pulled from his back where, unconsciously, her nails had been gouging into his muscle. They promptly found a grip lower on his back as his pounding on her pudendum lifted her hips up from the carpet. Her legs rose and bent at the knee, inviting his powerful manhood to penetrate deeper inside her, wishing it could reach her cervix and then invade all her guts in a paroxysm of ecstasy. Ah, what woman could resist when she was being held prisoner by the prong pinning her to the floor.

Grandmamma had told her there would be moments when you must let go of the horse and let it carry you wherever it wanted.

"Now!" she shouted in a long, drawn-out howl that sounded like "

Naay-oo-w

!" The familiar red mist of her climax was overwhelming her wet body. The horse was running away! Muscles in her belly jerked in contractions of mindless pleasure. Knees locked around his torso, her head was thrown forward and she found her teeth gripping his neck. She heard a sound, somewhere between a groan and a muffled scream, and realized it was her soul escaping in the paroxysm of exhilaration.

His ejaculations shot up into her womb, jerking repeatedly and mimicking her own contractions. Suddenly, Gabby realized that she had allowed him to penetrate her without a condom. A cold chill ran up her shoulders.

Merde

, she thought, the idea of two thousand dollars had made her crazy! She had to get out and find a place to douche, find a

salle de bain

where she could clean up before meeting that prick André.

"Ah, Gabby, Gabby," he said, withdrawing slowly from her, "you were magnificent." The man with no name took out a handkerchief to wipe his cock and then pulled up his pants.

"Two thousand." She was angry now. "Now!"

"With pleasure." He reached into his side pocket and pulled out the bills, fanned the hundreds and placed them in her hands. "Did you enjoy our little party as much as I did?"

"No!" she spit out the words.

"You should. You come highly recommended."

"

Whaaat

?" She stood up and arched her back, naked and unbelieving.

"How I chose you. You were recommended by Andre. Now, if you like, I will take you into the city for dinner, a nice hotel where you can refresh yourself, and then we can discuss our future — together. André said to tell you

adieu et bonne chance

. Goodbye and good luck, my dear."

"You...know...Andre?" The words stumbled out of her numb mouth.

He nodded. "May I suggest you come down from Montreal to visit me every few weeks? The money will be good. The lovemaking exceptional. We can call it a marriage of convenience."

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