Taing Flight

Wojo couldn't get the damned book out of his head. It was easily the sexiest, most titillating thing he'd ever read. Hands down. The hundreds of Playboys and Penthouses that he'd spent hours thumbing through and...doing other things to...paled in comparison. No pictures, just words. Pages and pages of lustful passages that left him hard, leaking and yearning for more.

He'd never even heard of Erica Jong's Fear of Flying until Harris lent it to him as a way to curb his pre-flight jitters. He'd been tasked with the duty of escorting a prisoner out of state and was not looking forward to the trip. Everyone in the department knew that he was scared shitless of flying, even Barney, whose own pep talked did little to nothing to alleviate his nervousness. Barney had offered to arrange for someone else to take over the job, but Wojo had already decided that it was a done deal that he would be going. After all, the tickets had his name on them. Little did he know as he settled into his aisle seat and flipped to the first page that he would be in for a ride more exciting than what the flight leaving from LaGuardia was going to offer.

He managed to get almost a hundred pages deep during the hour-long flight to Cleveland. As the fates would have it, his captive partner had dozed off almost immediately after takeoff, and there wasn't a soul in the row of seats across from him. This stroke of good luck led his mind to a dangerous place as his cock began to stiffen while reading about the braless main character's nipples hardening beneath her dress. He let out a quivering sigh, suddenly thankful that he'd decided to forgo wearing underwear.

'Should I?' he thought, even though he already knew the answer. He squirmed in his seat, tugging at the crotch area of his snug slacks to give himself room, though it was really just an excuse to touch himself. He dared to clamp his fingers on it, almost immediately feeling the wetness drip onto his thigh as the organ pulsated in his grip.

'Not now,' he said to himself. 'Not yet.'

The drive from the airport to the precinct in Cleveland seemed like an eternity. His prisoner, a schlub named Clooney who'd had the unmitigated gall to be married to two women at the same time, more than made up for his lack of conversation on the plane by prattling on about how there was a direct correlation between his status as a bigamist and his being a Gemini.

"Ever since I was a kid, I've always had to do things in twos," Clooney said. Wojo informed him that, while the excuse was amusing, he'd have a better chance of getting away with marrying a third woman than the judge having leniency on him because of his astrological sign.

Wojo quickly wrapped up the business at hand and left the precinct without dawdling, bypassing several fast-food restaurants on the way to the motel despite needing a bite to eat. His growling stomach aside, there was a more important matter at hand than eating. The book was burning a hole in the passenger seat of the rental car. The anticipation of what might lie in the two hundred and some-odd pages he had left to read sent his hormones into a frenzy, and had undeniably made his sexual appetite overrule his hunger for food. It didn't help matters that the woman at the front desk of the Days Inn was openly flirting with him, her C-cup breasts poked out like two perky mounds beneath her tight brown blouse as she took his credit card.

"Wojciehowicz?" she asked, batting eyelashes that were obviously fake and adorned with too much mascara. She'd pronounced the third syllable like how instead of ho, but he didn't bother to correct her. "Polish?"

"Good guess."

He stared at her very attractive face, wondering why women often piled on makeup when they'd be a lot prettier without it. At any other time, she could have easily been another notch in his headboard, but this was a business trip, not a leisurely one, and there was other pressing business awaiting him within the pages of Ms. Jong's steamy novel.

"So, you're only going to be with us for the night?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm headed back to New York in the morning."

"New York? How exciting! I've always wanted to go there. Is the Statue of Liberty really as big as it looks on TV?"

"Bigger."

"Wow. Seeing something that majestic up close would be so amazing. It would take my breath away."

"You oughta make your way there sometime."

"I plan to."

He pretended not to notice her fingers caressing his hand as she handed him a key linked to a keychain baring the establishment's logo.

"Room 1-F, just around this corner and down the hall."

"Thanks."

Just then a stout, balding man entered from the door behind her. Without making eye contact with Wojo, he sidled up next to her at the desk, taking her attention away from their pleasantries by leaning in close and mumbling something that only the two of them could hear. Wojo used the interruption as an opportunity to step away from the desk and head toward his room.

"Have a good stay!" she yelled.

"You bet," Wojo replied, giving a quick wave.

1-F was all the way at the end of the dimly lit hall. The room was small and without frills, which was to be expected for a motel on a busy strip, but it was tidy. A lot tidier than his own apartment. The wall opposite the door had a picture window with curtains partially drawn, revealing a view of the rear parking lot. Wojo moved to close them, shutting out the remaining late evening light and leaving the space illuminated solely by a tiny lamp on the nightstand. He made quick work of shedding his sport coat and gun holster. His tie, no longer in the neat Windsor knot he'd affixed earlier that morning, also came off with a tug. He undid a few buttons on his shirt, stepped out of his British Walkers and settled down on the end of the bed with the book in his hand. The part where he'd stopped had been marked with a folded page. Wojo could feel himself getting hard again just looking at the typesetting. He suddenly remembered a phrase from earlier in the book that had made him chuckle aloud on the plane. "Zipless fuck." It was a term that the main character, Isadora, had used to describe guiltless, strings-free casual sex. He liked the term so much that he jotted it down on a napkin and stuffed it into his pocket just before disembarking from the plane. He scanned the page, quickly finding the place he'd left off, and laid back on the soft bed, effortlessly slipping back into Isadora's torrid world. It wasn't long before she was fucking someone other than her husband, some European guy she'd met on a flight to Vienna (yes, she's married, naughty girl). Their coupling was soon increased by a third party when the aforementioned husband happened to walk in on the carnal goings-on. Rather than getting angry or lashing out from jealousy, the husband decided instead to join in on the fun. Wojo's mouth fell open in amazement. Had he been the husband, the European guy's head would have been shoved through a wall. He found it difficult to wrap his mind around how a man would be inclined to share his wife with another man, but he was more than willing to go where the story was going to take him.

The scene was more than enough to sustain his arousal. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of his slacks and he unhooked the fastener, letting his fingers play around in the strands of his thick pubic hair. Isadora was being made love to by both men. Vividly. Passionately. The words came alive and leapt from the page, and he had soon forgotten his second-hand feelings of jealousy on behalf of the husband. He could almost feel himself being there in that room in Vienna. Being one of them. He peaked over the top of the book and saw that his cock had become hard enough to tent the front of his slacks. His hand slid deeper, grazing his tumescent tube of meat, and he shivered in response.

"Unh-uh," he said. "You've got all night."

He slid up further on the bed to make himself more comfortable. The seconds turned to minutes and the minutes became hours, and soon he'd read more than he had left to read. He'd switched positions so many times through the night that the sheets had become a tangled mess beneath him. A graphic masturbation scene in the book, which had come just after Isadora had had a heated argument with her husband, took him to full hardness, and he was soon leaking again. Flustered, he undid the zipper and pulled out his penis, staring intently at the thick eight-inch shaft pointing like an arrow toward the ceiling. He smiled heartily at his virility. A coating of precum had seeped down to cover the reddened mushroom head, making it glisten in the soft lamp light. He swiped his right index finger over the tip and shuddered.

"Fuck..." Wojo whispered softly. He slowly brought the finger up to his face, pressed it against his thumb and separated it, watching as a long string of pre-ejaculate stretched a good two to three inches before breaking. Without hesitation, he plunged the two digits into his mouth, moaning. Relishing the sweet-saltiness of his own fluids. He repeated the process and tasted himself again, then quickly doffed his shirt and pushed off his slacks. He was now naked save for the white wife beater that rose up on his muscular torso when he turned over to lay on his stomach.

Wojo looked upon the art of edging as one of the most pleasurable forms of self-torture. He was rather proud of his ability to edge his orgasm for lengthy periods of time while masturbating. The longest he'd ever gone was the previous time he'd done it, during a full day at work while wearing a cock ring -- one of those steel concoctions that fits snugly at the base of both the cock and the balls. He'd picked it up at a porno shop, more out of curiosity than anything, and was decidedly happy with his investment. The biggest thrill for him was that no one was the wiser of what was going on underneath his chocolate-colored double-knit slacks. He'd gotten so worked up throughout the day that by the time he arrived home, he'd barely closed the front door, gotten his pants down and pulled off a few quick tugs before he was exploding like a geyser. It had been such a mind-blowing orgasm that roughly a half hour had passed before he was able to gather the strength to pick himself up off the floor.

For as exhilarating as it was, edging was something that he only did sporadically. The goal each time was to best the previous amount of time that he was able to do it, but that goal would not be met on this night.

It was just after midnight when Wojo came to the last few pages of the book. When he was done, he went back to re-read some of the more erotic passages, finding the second time around to be even more powerful. The images painted by the author were now a part of him, ingrained in his mind, flowing through his bloodstream like an elixir. He closed the book and set it aside, and for a time, he laid still in the silence of the room and stared at the ceiling. His burly chest rose and fell with the quickening of his pulse. His heart raced, the steady beat thudding like a tribal drum in his ears. He had been fully erect for the last hour or so. His balls were heavy with cum and ached for release. He slid from the bed and walked over to the bureau, examining himself in the mirror. The body reflected back at him was a powerful, imposing one. His broad shoulders, muscular arms, expansive chest and massive thighs were owed equally in part to good genetics and a decent amount of time spent lifting weights. It was the kind of physique that was good for the intimidation factor that sometimes came with the territory of being a cop.

He allowed his fingertips to trace the rugged edges of his handsome face. Tilting his head back, he moved lower to delicately trail over his Adam's apple, delighting in the feeling of the bulbous protrusion as it bobbed up and down when he swallowed. His left hand snaked over his hard belly and under the bottom of the wife beater, and in one singular graceful motion he pulled it over his head and tossed it back onto the bed. He took ahold of his engorged cock and teased it with a firm grip and a few slow tugs. His other hand was busy gliding back and forth from one pec to the other, giving equal time to both sides of his chest as he groped and massaged the muscles hard enough to leave fingerprints on his skin. He circled his left nipple gently, feeling the erect protuberance with his fingertip before pinching it and tugging it outward, a move that sent a shockwave through him. He immediately maneuvered over to the other side to give his right nipple the same treatment, which elicited a grunt from him loud enough to echo off the white stucco walls. He began to beat his cock at a faster pace, no longer teasing it, but offering a rapid succession of sturdy, full-length tugs that made his balls audibly slap against his thighs. The precum leaking from his piss slit acted as a lubricant, moistening his hand with each pass over the sensitive cockhead. He moved his other hand behind him to smooth over his lower back down to his full, muscular buttocks. He enjoyed having his ass grabbed whenever he made love, but somehow it felt even better when it was his own hand doing the grabbing.

Wojo slowly backed away from the mirror as his knees began to buckle. The backs of his legs came to meet with the edge of the bed and sent him falling backwards onto the tangled sheets with a loud squeak of the box spring. Lying in the most vulnerable of positions with his feet propped up and his legs spread wide, Wojo lifted his head slightly to see that he was still able to catch his reflection. His hands found his ass and spread the cheeks apart, exposing that part of himself that he never got to see. He moved his index finger to the spot, circling the hairy point of entry. His body trembled and he let out a guttural cry that anyone who happened to be outside the door of 1-F would have most certainly heard. His finger went deeper, burrowing into the orifice until it nearly disappeared, and his legs instinctively clamped together in response. Wojo never shared with anyone that he was aware of the male G-spot. He knew exactly where it was, and that it was no myth that fooling around with it only made an orgasm that much more intense. He raised his legs, bringing his knees back as far as they would go, and plummeted further until his finger was completely submerged. Too weak to continue looking at his reflection, he let his head fall back onto the bed, took in a deep breath and proceeded to finger fuck himself while simultaneously beating off. The feeling was so good that he nearly lost consciousness. A scream welled up in him that only managed to escape as a husky gasp for air. The thick index finger worked his hole with reckless, unmerciful abandon as he pumped his hips off of the bed in an erratic pace to meet the quickness of his jerking. In the passing of minutes, Wojo had nearly brought himself to a climax, but he decided that it still wasn't time to let go just yet. He relaxed, withdrawing his finger and letting his feet hit the floor as he scooted back to avoid falling off the end of the bed. He removed his hand from his swollen cock and watched it twitch on its own, as if threatening to erupt at any given moment.

Exhausted but not nearly finished, he turned over and crawled toward the headboard. He grabbed a pillow, hugged it against his chest and settled down flat on his stomach. His hips slowly began to move and he was suddenly pushing himself against the bed, pressing his cock into the softness beneath him. His thoughts drifted back to the book. To scenes of Isadora and her lover having sex in the outdoors at night as they crisscrossed through Europe. Of the description of her breasts as she sat alone in a shallow tub of water. He remembered the pert breasts on the woman at the front desk, and how her too-tight shirt had stretched across them leaving little to the imagination. He wondered if they were anything like Isadora's, or if her pussy had been as tight, creamy and welcoming whenever she, as Isadora had done, shoved two fingers inside herself in pursuit of pleasure. His hips sped up, and he was grinding himself against the mattress, making love to it as if he was making love to another person. The friction made every nerve ending in his body bristle. He moaned loudly, gripping a handful of the sheets, gritting his teeth in an attempt to hold off his orgasm for just one more minute. But it was coming, and he was powerless to stop it. He quickly turned over and began to jerk off at a violently vigorous pace, his adrenaline reaching a fever pitch. His toes curled as the orgasm coursed through his body starting from his feet, up through his legs and thighs and into his scrotum, which had become a shriveled sack of skin as his testicles had retracted up inside him. His muscles tensed and his asshole began to clench and pucker at will. He spat at his boner, slapping it, daring it to spit back at him. And just then, obediently, it did. Wojo shut his eyes and cried out as the volcano erupted.

"Oh my God I'm gonna come! Ahh yeahhh!!!"

Thick ropes of semen jetted from his cock in a half dozen spurts, flying over his torso and hitting him in his face, neck, chest, and landing in the trail of hair on his stomach. Even in the blackness behind his eyelids the room seemed to be spinning, as if the bed had become an out-of-control carousel and he was holding on for dear life to keep from falling off.

And then it was over as quickly as it'd begun.

Wojo descended blissfully from the heights of ecstasy with a wide, open-mouthed grin that expressed better than any words could the way he was feeling. His rigid tool had already begun to soften, yet he continued to stroke himself, sluggishly coaxing out the remainder of his seed as his body relaxed and his breathing stabilized. His return to calm was accompanied by the quiet murmuring of several expletives and the groaning of a couple of names that were floating around in the haze that filled his head.

"Uhnnnh...Isa...Isadora...mmm...Harris..."

HARRIS??

Wojo bolted upright when that name slipped pass his lips. He looked around the room as if expecting to see someone else there with him.

"Harris?" he repeated, puzzled. While it was true that Harris had lent him the book to read, he hadn't thought about his co-worker at all since leaving the Greenwich Village station the previous afternoon. So, why on earth would he be uttering his name while coming down from such an amazing release? He looked over at the book lying face-up on the bed next to his hip, its laminated jacket covered in several errant splotches of his cum. He picked it up and brushed his DNA off with his hand, immediately taking note of the mess that he'd made on his body.

"Christ," he remarked with a chuckle. "Talk about backed up pipes."

There was a box of Kleenex on the nightstand. He reached over to swipe five or six tissues, then began the daunting task of cleaning himself. Harris's name rang out again in his head as he dabbed at his hirsute chest. What did it all mean? Was Harris somewhere talking about him? He remembered the old wives' tale about how your ears supposedly burn whenever someone spoke about you outside of your presence, but his ears felt normal. It unnerved him.

Wojo flushed the soiled tissue down the toilet and splashed some cold water on his face, then cut the light as he left the bathroom. He'd need to get an early start in the morning.

'Seven a.m., at least,' he thought. 'No, six. Six is better.'

He was no good without at least five hours of sleep, and it was already past one a.m. He punched the phone pad for the front desk to put in a wake-up call. The voice on the other end belonged to a woman, but it definitely wasn't perky tits from earlier.

"Yes, six a.m....Continental breakfast? Not sure I'll have time, but thanks..."