WARNING!

This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read

erotic literature (or you are under the tender age of 18),  PLEASE, move on to something 

more appropriate for you.

   _________________________________________

An email request.

File name: Melissa-Airline.txt  (M Tg rom)

Authors name: nalatogg (nalatogg@yahoo.com)

Story title: An Airline Ride with Melissa

   Your name is Tom and you have been recently appointed as an executive vice president at XYZ Corporation. You are a new member of the executive elite, rubbing elbows with the likes of Robert (Bob), the CEO, Steve, the COO, and James or Big Jimbo as he likes to be called. He is the CFO. [The acronyms being alluded to are: CEO = chief executive officer (chairman of the board), COO = chief operating officer (usually the vice-chairman) and CFO = chief financial officer]. These men exude masculinity and are used to being in charge. They almost have a mindset of a wildcatter (oil driller) but with the rough edges smoothed out from years of dealing with fellow successful men. Weakness is easily exploited, as it is a dog-eat-dog environment up here in the clouds of corporate management. Sports and women are casually bantered around. These men are used to getting their way and approve of the exploitation of others. You have caught their eye as a bright young man with creative solutions to some complex and sensitive issues with the company. They can use someone like you in their strategy meetings. You however have no interest in women and sports stuff, and cringe at the cruel debasement of others. You're a sensitive man, believing in fair play toward others. Fairness is your cornerstone. But you are not stupid enough to show these feelings, so you bravely put on a front of manliness when you are around them. Robert is an older man, in his 50s, dresses smartly in his conservative pinstripes. He has an air of quiet authority that he wields effectively when around others. Steve is the youngest of the three and always has a ribald joke for anything sensitive and meaningful, except he never jokes about the company or competition. Big Jim is the sporto of the group, highly competitive, biggest in size of the three, and instinctively can sniff out weakness.

   You are summoned to an emergency meeting in which your company's competition has recently gobbled up market share. You know they are looking for creative answers, formidable answers, answers to shut down the competition. As the meeting is progressing, you find yourself uncomfortable with the direction the meeting is taking. These men are behaving as though they are characters from Murder, Inc. They don't want to just outwit the competition. They want to shut them down. This is not the type of solution hunting you are geared for. The air is rich in masculine energy. The men are animated about what action the company should take. They look to you for more creative and crueler methods. You are anxious to get out of there and breathe some fresh air of sensibility. Besides, these men are not average, everyday Joe Bazookas. They stay fit and muscular. And they are all good looking men. This fact has not been lost on you. You like to watch them as they battle and plan their successes. It makes you wet to realize that at any moment you could become their next meal, their next conquest. You have had fantasies of them taking you sexually one after the other, impaling you in every orifice and releasing their manly seed deep inside you. You realize that this daydream has made you flush, and you excuse yourself from the meeting on the pretense of getting another cup of coffee, of "hitting the can" (taking a piss). You notice a strange look on Big Jim's face. Careful, careful, you remind yourself as you exit. You make a beeline for the bathroom where you will be able to calm down and restore order to your mind. So much testosterone in the room! 

   You find an empty stall in the executive men's room and as you sit to pee (women do that, you know), you drop your trousers and peel your panties down. Your lacy, feminine underthings bring calm to a disorderly world around you. You smile approvingly at your flowery panties that span your knees as you delicately urinate into the toilet. Your knee-high stockings that you found on sale at Victoria's Secret yesterday was such a good buy! I don't need any bulky garter belts and clips to keep these on, you remind yourself. You love the silky closeness of the stockings, wrapping your smooth, shaved, youthful legs in lacy luxury. You allow yourself some womanly indulgence as you take inventory of your feminine undergarments that you are wearing today. They don't even know, you chuckle to yourself.  You adjust the straps to your seethingly sexy push-up bra. You love the way your small breasts are pushed together to form an alluring cleavage for some lucky man to stroke and caress. Yessssss! you hiss to yourself, touch me there. You feel so wanton, so feminine, so sexy. You have pushed up your button-down shirt to caress the silky undertrappings protecting and emphasizing your silky smooth chest. You spend so much time prepping your body to keep it feminine. You are happy with the results. No hormones for this woman. Mmmmmm, you sigh. I feel better now. What a crazy meeting I've been in! I feel much better now; now that I'm away from them. You continue tinkling delicately into the bowl, feeling more and more feminine by the second.

   BANG!! The stall door is thrown open and you are staring into the hard eyes of Big Jim.
 
  "What the FUCK?!!" he screams. "What the fuck are you wearing? Pussy clothes?! Get dressed! Now!! I want to see you back at the meeting! NOW!!"

   He storms out, slamming the stall door in your face. Oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit. What do you do now? Your feminine things are not so attractive right now. You feel the blood drain out of your face as you pale to the realization that you must go back in, back into the trenches. But this time you're going to war with nothing on, naked, and all the soldiers are snickering. A sissy boy is going to fight with us. What a fucking joke you are! Why don't you blow us while we do man's work, you fucking sissy cuntboy! You gently wipe yourself, tears cascading down your cheeks as you experience the ultimate shame and the forbearance of even more shame and ridicule to come. You are gentle with your panties as you pull them up over your once proud cocklette and readjust yourself into them. You look down one last time and silently weep. These are not tears of joy and adulation, but droplets of humiliation and impending ridicule. One last look as you drop your man's dress shirt over your silky bra of pride and joy. One last glimpse of your oh-to-die-for legs incased in your hot stockings, as you pull up your man's dress trousers and belt them into place. You straighten your tie and flush the commode. You walk as if in a dream toward the dreaded conference room. The door is closed. You knock sheepishly and poke your head in.
 
  "What the fuck are you knocking for??! You supposed to be in here with us brainstorming this problem! Are you for real?"

   It was Steve's turn to outburst. He was glaring at you. He was accusing you. Does he know, you wonder? You hope he doesn't and you can escape unscathed. You have a sinking feeling this is not going to happen. You hear a chuckle off to the side. You turn and see Bob's face distorted into a cruel smile as he announces that something has been brought to his attention. He does not have a supportive attitude about him. Quite the contrary. You suddenly feel like the goat tethered to the stake in the movie, Jurassic Park. Instead of one T-Rex, you are now facing three. You find trouble in reading any of their faces. So many emotions are passing through you right now. Fight or flee? You always flee. You know it. It is not in your emotional makeup to do battle. You would much rather surrender and become the chattel to the victor, the spoils to the pillager, the receptacle to the rapist. You succumb to your fate. You lower your eyes and assume the position of the weaker sex. They own you now.

  "Shit! You're real disappointment to me, Tom!" This was Jim talking. He still seems angry with you. "And wearing women's clothing! With fucking stockings! Shit! Shit!"

  You're confused and humiliated. They haven't thrown you out of the room. Does that mean you are still a useful part of the strategy team? Hope floats to the surface as you grab at a loosely concocted straw. But they're not returning to the problem at hand: what to do about the other company. You look back and forth among the three men, trying to decipher what is going on here. Steve just looks at you. A strange look. Like you are a specimen under scrutiny. What does it mean? Bob chuckles again. And he looks out the large plate glass window high above the streets below. He is thinking, of that much you are sure. The wheels are turning, turning. He pivots back toward you and sneers.

   "Well, Tom. You certainly have surprised us all. Seems you are not who you claim to be. Which one are you, Tom? Are you a man or a woman, or both?"

   Snickering and guffawing clearly could be heard in the room. "Are you a hermaphrodite? I heard of those, but have never believed it myself." He announces sanctimoniously. He is pleased with himself, indignantly outraged, but in control of the situation like King Solomon. Flush rises to your cheeks as you are ceremoniously categorized and mocked.

   "Shall we call you, Hermi?" Steve outbursts in an attempt to make a joke, remaining true to his character. Laughter rings throughout the room with even Bob joining in. He is enjoying the feast upon your reputation as they all are.

   "Well, gentlemen, the question is what do we do about this? We still have a corporate dilemma to solve, and we have no one at the present moment to fill the vacancy." Bob looks right at you with his piercing blue eyes. Oh shit, the other shoe is falling from the sky. And you're under it. You hear Big Jim clear his throat.

   "Well Bob, no one else knows about this little development and Tom or Tammi or whatever he is going to call himself has contributed valuable insight into the strategy. I vote to keep him on for now."

   There is silence in the room. You blink a couple of times as you process what you just heard. Big Jim wants to keep me on? Did I hear him correctly?

  "Hmmmm. You do have a point, Jim. I need this matter finished and executed as soon as possible. I will NOT go down in flames. That other corporation is going to die!!" Bob vehemently declares. He turns to you and again stares at you, through you.

  "Can I depend on your discretion, Tom?"

   Another moment of silence prevails. No one is saying anything. It seems there is unspoken consensus happening in front of you. You allow yourself to relax for the first time since re-entering the room. You're being spared! Thank, God! You visibly slouch as the tension leaves your body and you wilt.

   "How much do you value your employment here at XYZ, Tom? Or should I say, Tammi? I like the name, Tammi. Do you like it too, Tammi?" Bob's threat is veiled but crystal clear. You're not out of the woods yet. You're still food for ridicule and humiliation.
 
  "I value my position here, yes. What are you getting at, sir?" You venture. Not at all entirely sure what he is meaning or wanting. You look at the others. Everyone is looking at you and you're on the hotseat. You are back to feeling vulnerable again. You risk another glance at the others, and no one is scowling any more, but instead they are sporting smirks. What's up? you think.
 
  "Well, Tammi. You don't mind if I call you Tammi from now on, do you?" Uh, oh. "Well, Tammi. Among your other duties as assistant idea guy, or gal," (This brought on a new set guffaws from the other men) "if you want to remain where you are, we as a team need certain functions fulfilled. We all have to do our part if this team is to be successful. Do you follow me so far?"
 
  "Yes"
 
  "Good."

   You glance around at the others again and Steve is just watching you, his features have softened, almost kindly. Big Jim on the other hand is adjusting his crotch and leering at you. You're confused again.

   "Well, your little secret and apparent proclivity has hinted at a new set of responsibilities for you. Responsibilities that would be critical to our team's success." Bob smiles at this last statement, but it is more of a grimace. You recognize shark smiles and this is one of them. You haven't apparently lost your job, but there seems to be a whole new meaning to the word, reassignment. It doesn't seem to be something as banal as filing either. You wait to find out.

   "We need you, or rather we want you to become more of a team player." Bob steps dangerously closer to you. He is very close to you as he presses home his new concept for you. 

   "Tammi," he softly suggests, "we need a cheerleader, someone to motivate us, to inspire us to greater heights. We need you. You know what I mean?" He is standing inside your personal space now. He is beyond any boundary of masculine social acceptability. He is within your personal circle of intimacy. The point is clear but it makes no sense to you.

   "Wha...what do you mean?" You stammer as a very ugly thought begins to form in your mind. A thought so alien and yet not so repulsive that you shun it aside. Instead it hovers just outside of your conscious awareness, insistent in its demand, insistent in your acceptance of it.

  "We want you to be our cheerleader." He states again. "We feel you have special qualities that could help us succeed and prosper as a company. And it would be good for your career."

  "What do I need to do?" You question.

  "Well, let's see. Help me here, guys. I can't do this alone."

   "Jesus, Bob! Just tell her, for Christ's sakes!" Jim blurts out. "We need a concubine, someone to take care of certain needs. Think of yourself as a social director, a behavioral specialist, whatever." You go sheet-white as that elusive thought emerges with clarity and finality, cruelly reinforced by the cryptic job description mockingly provided by equally cruel men.

   "You want me to do WHAT?" You ask incredulously.

  "Well, don't think you haven't thought about us," volunteers Steve. He's looking at you differently now, with more interest. You look at Jim. He is smiling and leering at you. You feel naked and vulnerable. You look back at Bob and realize you ARE vulnerable, and another unimaginable idea creeps into your conscious mind. No, no, no way they want me to do what they want, NOW? Your face reflects that horror. They all smile and approach you. There is no escaping. You are trapped. You silently acknowledge your fate, not knowing what to do next. You are a lamb to the proverbial sexual slaughter and the wolves take their time. You look helpless as they crowd you. The maleness is thick in the air around you. You feel weak. You try resisting.

  "I won't do this." You throatily protest, but you realize that you're sending out all the wrong messages.

  "Sure you will, honey." Jim whispers. "I can tell you're going to be a real team player. And I have a good cheer for you to try," He smiles. "It's called 'give me an O, give me an R, give me an A, give me an L, and what have you got, honeycakes? Blowjob, sweetheart, blowjob. I've got a real man-sized load for you, too. Rich and creamy. It'll make your tits grow, too." he chuckles voraciously. He is practically breathing on you in his insistence. The others had crowded in on you too. They all want a piece of the action, you.

  "Hey, I can't get into this without some props," Steve declares. "Aren't you wearing some kind of female underwear shit? Let's see it. Strip for us."

  This is growing way out of control. They want me to parade in my frilly underwear and service them and someone could come in?

  "Someone could come in," you feebly protest.

  "Yeah, you're right. Lock the doors, Steve."

  "Yeah, and strip."

    The men have now taken it upon themselves to remove their pants and prepare themselves for a show. Bob is sporting boxers and his penis is hanging out limp. Steve likes bikini underwear and his aroused bulge is evident behind the cotton. Big Jim wears normal briefs, but his manhood is outside and erect, a full 10" of thick, blood-engorged cock. You find yourself staring at all of them, paying particular attention to their appendages. You subconsciously start stripping, unaware that the show has already begun. You take your time as you seem to be in a dream, detached from your increasingly exposed, feminine body. Just 30 minutes ago, you were reveling in your feminine, silky soft demeanor. Now that same aura has gotten you in a pickle, a rather large and curiously exciting pickle. More like a thick, bumpy, obscenely veined cucumber. You have their interest and a warm flush washes over your genitals.

   You have removed all your outer garments and are left with your sexy high-cut panties that very attractively accentuate your basket of treats, thigh-high lacy stockings that caress your long, slim, smooth sixteen-year old legs, and a pert satiny push-up bra that highlights your firm, small breasts. The men are all but drooling at your intimate outfit. Suddenly, as you realize your predicament in all of its coldest context, something just snaps within you and you decide to stand there boldly, legs astride, cock and balls displayed deliciously within your high-cut panties, held back only by the thinnest of material, hands on your hips, chest thrust out daring anyone to sip from your cups, replete with a new fuck-it attitude, eyes slitted, lips parted suggestively.

  "Come GET me, boys." You can't believe what you just said. God, it feels good to be out of the closet! Your audience is stunned. You obviously have surpassed any expectations. Gone is that cruel, haughty look and their faces have now taken on a wolfish, lustful, predatory look. Your genital basket grows as you soak up the electricity in the room. The men approach you differently now. They want you. All of them want you. They all want you together. It could be a gang-bang for you, followed by lots of sperm emptied into your mouth. You are weak in your knees and have butterflies in your stomach. You have always wanted this, and now you have men who are men.

  "Oh yeah, we knew it! You're a slut! I gotta have you!"

  "Oh baby, take my load. I have so much to give."

  "Fuck, Tammi. I had no idea that you are such a hot bitch!"

   They're all talking at the same time and pushing their cocks into you. After that performance, they stripped in record time.

  "Wait, wait. We need to finish this. I can't fuck what I think is a guy."

  Steve rushes off, his dick swinging wildly in the air, toward a closet and rummages through it, with no thought to tidiness. He is on a mission.

  "Ah ha! I've got it!"

  "What the fuck, Steve? What have you got? My balls are hurting here."

  "The finishing touches, asshole. A make-up kit from last Halloween. Remember?"

  "Oh yeah. You're brilliant, Steve!"

   They all look at you expectantly like kids with a new toy hoping you will fix it for them.

  "Ok," you say. And you apply your expertise in transforming a plain Jane (?) man into a sultry, fuckable plaything.

  "Oooooooo. Fuckin' hot!"

  "Shit, you look good!"

  "Man! I had no idea!"

  "Yeah, Bob, you never have an idea. We have to do all the thinking for you."

  They were bantering back and forth, acting relaxed and as though they were in college again. All this while you make your beauty evident, growing more and more confident by the minute. I wonder who is the prey and who is the hunted now, you reflect.

  "All done, boys." You smooch you lips together seductively and run your tongue around the perimeter, acting coy and available. Your eyes have the proper amount of mascara and you once again slit them as you move your lips suggestively. Marilyn Monroe would have been proud of you. There was even a decent wig in the box of make-up supplies. You don it and step back from them.

  "Fuck! I can't tell!"

  "You can't tell a good looking woman from a gutter rag, Steve, even after two beers."

   They all break up into laughter, peals of it echoing off the walls. The tension from the earlier encounter has evaporated, and you are within the inner circle again. Just differently. You saunter up to each man and invite him to taste your wares.

  "No fighting, boys, everybody gets a snack."

   Someone has cleared an area on the conference table with their arm as evidenced by the crash of every item in its wake. Thankfully the table is of a modern design so it is lower than most. Just high enough to bend some bitch slut over and fuck her from behind and someone else to throat fuck her. You feel your self being carried firmly to the table and placed on your back. Your head is dangling over the edge and your legs are being held up high like a plucked chicken.

  "Wait, wait."

  "Now what, Steve? You're  fuckin' killin' me with your 'wait, wait’s"

  "I want to see her with her clothes off. I want to fuck the bitch naked."

   So, they all proceeded to shuck her feminine coverings.

  "Wait, wait. Leave the stockings. They look so hot on her."

  "Jesus, Steve! What are you going to do with her? Marry the bitch?"

   You are finally prepared for their pleasure and each steps up to an orifice. Big Jim wants your mouth and he isn't going to take no for an answer. His mammoth sex organ is waving above your lips like ominous sword. His low hanging balls are fuzzy and bloated. You are fascinated by the size of them as they barely move when he shifts his weight. I wonder how much cum is in there, you wonder. You smack your lips. You want that cum. You want it hot and greasy. Someone unbelievably has found a tube of K-Y jelly in the same make-up box. Steve has already joked about what else may lay within its depths. You feel someone slathering your anus with the lubricant and you await the invasion with intrepidation. You've been practicing with a dildo pretty regularly, but this is a first to actually get gang-banged. A finger worms up inside of your anal passage, coating and preparing your rectum walls with the slippery substance. There is no turning back. You ARE going to get fucked, and fucked more than once. You turn your head to find Steve looking down at you with his cock pointed at your face. He slaps the heavy shaft and cockhead against your lips and cheeks repeatedly while whispering,

  "Good slut, nice slut. Are you going to drink all our scum this afternoon? I gotta wait until Jimbo has his way with you before I empty my balls into your throat. Bob? He's your backdoor man here. He has a nice long one so I'm sure you're goin' to feel it up inside your guts. Nice bitch cunt. Good slut bitch. You're a pretty skanky whore, you know that? If I had my way I'd invite everyone in the company up here just to dump their slimy scum on your face. Would like that, skanky, putrid whore?"

   Your mind reels from the words he uses and the debasing use of his cock. Your face feels red and flushed where he repeatedly beat you with his thick, weighty cock. You feel an intrusion at your back door. Your head is turned back and your mouth is blocked by a large fleshy obstacle. They're getting ready to invade me, you realize with a tinge of panic and excitement. Your heart is racing at the anticipation of what it will feel like. Your mouth is the first to go and you find your jaw being stretched open as this enormous sausage-like protrusion worms its way into you. Your tongue is being flattened by the girth of this beast. You hear a moan and some unintelligible uttering. Next your ass experiences an entrance by something warm and insistent, and the opening sensation continues as you feel yourself being filled up, deep inside of you. You hear a lot of ahhhhhhhhhs and ohhhhhhhhhs, fucking bitch is hot! You are stuffed at both ends. You feel complete and totally woman, totally whore. There is a sawing motion down at your ass and your body starts a gentle rocking motion on the table, as you are unable to push back. This in turn forces more of this gigantic intrusion to further lodge itself inside your mouth. The tip of it you realize is at the back of your throat and tears are forming from the exertion of keeping your mouth open this wide. You are completely and totally stuffed with cock. God! You love it! Big Jim starts to fuck your mouth in long, easy strokes. You next feel a warm spongy sensation on your face, neck, breasts and you realize that Steve is getting anxious and bored being left out. You reach out and grasp his member. It is rigid and wanting. You feel his heartbeat in the shaft. Meanwhile Jim has increased his stroking and is muttering obscenities. There is a ringing in your ears as your own lust is taking over. You are unaware of everything except the three cocks now assaulting you. Steve is humping your hand. You want him to slow down as you want for him to cum in your mouth, just like he wanted. Bob is furiously fucking you and is close to release, since you can hear his loud panting above the ringing.

   A very warm liquid feeling invades your rectum and you love that he is washing your insides with his spunk. He is trying to keep his cries of pleasure low so as not to attract attention. What a considerate man, you think. His sperm has lubricated your asshole and its tunnel very nicely so his lunges are neither uncomfortable nor invasive. You try pushing back, signaling your pleasure with him. Jim is grunting and moaning continuously and you know you are going to witness a choking, drowning experience. His cock can't fit into your throat, thank God, but the brutal pounding and humping is leaving the inside of your mouth sore. You pray that he reach his climax soon. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Jim is not so quiet and he unleashes a torrent of scalding, oily sperm that immediately fills the back of your mouth. Jesus! That was just one spurt! Another one rolls out and soon you are swimming in seed. Some of it actually goes up into your sinuses, and you can feel it ooze out each nostril. It burns as it dribbles out. You want to take a breath but he has you locked onto his shaft, and is trying to bury more into you. There is no end to the amount of jizz rushing from the end of his prick. Thank God it isn't a putrid taste. Finally, you shake loose and through all the coughing, choking, and gasping, you breathe in fresh air. His cum is everywhere on you and in you. All you taste is cum; not even your own saliva is present. Jim has slumped into a nearby chair, exhausted from his ordeal. Bob is passed out on the floor somewhere. Steve is still hanging around and you sit upright on the table to look at him.

  "Come on, honey. Sit here. I'm going to blow the balls off you," you tell him.

  You guide him to a nearby chair and kneel before him. You look up at him and try to wipe some of the scum off your face. He's been patient and you want this to be special for him.

  "How do you want it, honey? Long, slow strokes or short, fast ones? My throat is yours, honey." You're talking like a street whore, and you relish in it. He's your trick and you're going to show him the best time of his life.

  "Where do you want to put your cock, baby? In my pussy or in my mouth, my deliciously fuckable mouth? Hmmm?"

  Steve's eyes are bugging out of his head. Is this the same Tom we just hired a week ago? The same mousy man who was only going to assist us? He couldn't believe his fortune.

  "In your mouth. I want to cum in your mouth, you sweet whore."

  "I know, sugar. I want you to give me as much as you can. Can you fill my poor, small mouth with your hot, massive load? Can you drown me with your scalding scum, baby?"

  You lick your lips with the last statement. You can still taste Big Jim's cumload, and you intend to rectify that. Besides Steve is younger and more virile than Jim is. He's better looking too. You look at him one more time as you dip your luscious mouth toward his aching cock.

  "Fuck my mouth Steve. I'm your slut," you whisper.

  With that you plunge down, down, down until you are kissing his hairy bush. His cock is in your throat entrance. His is much narrower than Jim’s is and you hum your approval, which vibrates right up his shaft. Ohhhhhhhh! you hear and his cock lurches inside of you. You haven't moved and neither has he. He is completely immersed in your mouth. Both of you are in heaven together. You feel his hands on your head, stroking, clutching, caressing, wanting. You moan again and try to swallow the head further into your throat. His hands are busier now. You feel a kiss on the top of your head. You hear his words, low, intense, and personal.

  "I never meant any of what I said to you, Tammi. I want you to know that I have been secretly attracted to you even when you worked downstairs. I was thrilled when they moved you up here. But this! This is more than I could ever desire!"

  He lets you up so you can breathe. He looks at you in the eye and you can tell he is truthful about what has just said.

  "I want to reciprocate, but not here, ever," he continues.

  Your naked cock, which has been in various stages of firmness through all this, is now stiff, erect and pointed right at him. He reaches down and grasps the shaft in his hand. He strokes you, fondles you, and lovingly caresses your organ. You moan your satisfaction. This just gets better and better, you think.

  "Later, Steve. Later, honey. I'm thirsty for your sperm, sweetheart. Shoot it into my mouth," you say and you proceed to blow him as he has never been blown before, swallowing and drowning in his creamy white cum that is rich and yummy. You have found your man, Tammi.