I can’t help but smile as I watch the bulge in Henrik’s pants grow; I can see he is ready to put his plan into action. He informed me last night that Jacob Mimir had rented a private jet to take us to Italy for our honeymoon as a wedding gift. Henrik immediately told me about his 'plan' while we were flying over the Atlantic. Since neither of us are members of the mile high club, he thought it would be perfect to do it on our honeymoon.
"You ready?" he whispers in my ear as I sit up. He searches the beige cabin to see if anyone is watching us. Of course no one is looking, because it is only us right now.
"Come on Husband, let's join the club." I unbuckle my seat belt and stand.
He does the same but puts his finger to his lips. "Shhh. I don't want people to hear."
I roll my eyes and snort. He keeps look out as we walk up the dark blue carpeted aisle. When he opens the bathroom door, Henrik quickly ushers me inside.
Wow, this is tiny. I think the bathroom in coach on a commercial airline is bigger than this. Henrik squeezes inside. We are having trouble breathing until we maneuver ourselves so I am standing in front of the toilet and he is in front of the sink.
"How are we going to make this happen?" I ask while I gaze around the tight space.
Henrik furrows his brow and runs his fingers through his hair.
"I read up on all of this, even small spaces. Basically, I will have to sit on the toilet while you sit on me." He points to the tiny metal toilet bowl next to me.
I frown as I notice there is no lid on the seat.
"Oh gross. Are you sure you want to do this? It's your butt on that seat, not mine."
I look back at him and he already has his jeans and briefs pulled down to his ankles, as he is stroking himself. Okay then, I guess this is a go.
I wore a dark green tennis skirt for the flight due to our plan, so I remove my pink lace panties and am ready for action. I place my undies on the tiny counter before I squeeze by Henrik so he can sit on the toilet. None of this is turning me on, so I have to lick my fingers and rub myself before I settle back on him.
He moans as he fills me. Henrik grabs my hips to help me move up and down on his cock. He moves one of his hands under my tan polo shirt as he massages my breast. I'm starting to get into this as he pinches my nipple.
"Oh Sweetcakes, you feel so fucking good," he groans into my ear.
The more he moves into me, pinches me, and moans in pleasure, the wetter I become. This isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I think we might have to try this again on the way home. I'm smiling at the thought as I hear the toilet flush.
"Did you hit something?" I turn my head back to see his face.
"No."
Flush. A few thrusts. Flush.
"Fuck, it's one of those automatic flush toilets. There is cool air hitting my balls every time it does that." I can’t help but chuckle at our predicament.
"Don't laugh Morgana or we are going to be here a long time. Now focus. I have dreamed about this since I was a teenager."
He digs his fingers into my hips, abandoning my boobs. Pushing me up and down, faster and faster, as random flushes go off.
There is a knock at the door.
"Yes?" I squeak as we stop mid thrust.
"Madam, I am about to serve lunch. I can't seem to locate your husband."
I panic. "Oh, he said he was going to take a stroll."
Henrik groans behind me.
"Where? There is nowhere to go here. I'll look for him in the back. I need to know if you wish to have fish or chicken."
"Both of us, chicken."
"All right."
I hear her walk away and breath a heavy sigh.
"Taking a stroll? This isn't a cruise ship!" Henrik whisper yells at me, as he begins pushing me up and down on him again.
"Henrik, I think it's time to give up on this dream of yours. Or, maybe on the way back from the honeymoon we try again."
"Give me one more second." He sounds like he is holding his breath as he slams me hard onto him.
"I'm coming. Oh fuck!"
He stills me on top of him and I am thankful it's over. I have no idea why people want to do this.
Henrik grabs some tissues as I clean myself upon standing. He wipes up and gets dressed. I reach for my panties and accidentally knock them off the counter and into the toilet, which then automatically flushes.
"Oh crap! Now what am I going to do?"
Henrik tries not to laugh as I smack him jokingly on the arm. He pulls me in for a hug and kisses the top of my head.
"Well, you could walk around without any undies on in that sexy skirt. I wouldn't mind that at all."
"You and most of the Italian men, when we get off the plane."
I smirk as my words sink in. He grimaces and then takes off his jeans and briefs. Handing me his briefs, he puts back on his pants.
"What do I do with these?"
"Wear them until we can get to the hotel room. We are husband and wife now, we share things."
I frown as I put them on. I wouldn't mind putting on his underwear if they weren't used. Also, they are big and baggy on me, poking out from under my skirt.
Once we make it back to our seat, I take the briefs off and lay them flat on the seat, as a towel. We eventually have the lunch as the stewardess gives us a questioning eye. I remove the metal lid from my dish and see a tiny piece of our wedding cake next to the chicken.
I look up at Henrik who takes the cake and brings the blue frosted confection to my lips. I take a bite and smile at him.
"I love you, Sweetcakes. Thank you for being my wife."
The End...but, read how they met with The Payne In The Blog!
The Payne In The Blog
Cover Picture: Voyagerix
Cover Design: Elizabeth Lynx
Chapter 1 - THE Interview ...
Have you ever thought, I can leave, no one will know? I can just go live in the woods, preferably warm like down south, and just spend my days living off the land.
This is what is running through my brain as I sit in an office building in downtown Chicago awaiting my fate. Everything is glass and wood and white and gray. It's a modern architect's wet dream and I'm wet too, but in all the wrong places.
Today I have an interview. Not just any interview for any job, but THE interview for THE job. I will be (fingers crossed!!!) Mr. Henrik Payne's assistant. He is VP of Sales and Marketing at Mimir, the third largest on-line retailer in the world and from what I hear a ball buster or vagina smasher, depending on what you have.
Preparation for this interview started eight years ago when I graduated college. Every job I have taken since I walked off that University stage with a diploma in my hand I sought for the sole purpose that it will impress a man like Mr. Payne. I imagine the interview will go something like this:
"So, Ms. Drake I see you worked as a Sales Manager at VonCroy Department Store and Assistant Secretary to the dean at University of Chicago. Impressive. I know the dean personally, what would he say about your work?"
I of course will wax poetic about how the dean loves me and I am like a daughter to him. Well, maybe not a daughter, but third niece twice removed. Subsequently, I will mention about how both jobs have given me the valuable experience to not only handle a multitude of personalities but also think on my feet. Employers love that!
"Ms. Drake!"
The feminine voice rips me from my fantasy and I turn my head to see a tall blonde about my age and built like a model. She gives me a sweet, if not exactly sympathetic, smile as she motions towards THE door.
"Ms. Drake, Mr. Payne will see you now."
I gather my bag and follow her as she leads me to THE door. One knock.
"Enter."
A man's deep voice echoes through the door. Here's my chance, fight or flight. Perhaps living off the land isn't that bad. Who needs modern medicine or dentistry or hamburgers? Oh God, I do. I need all those things. As the blonde -- who told me her name when I first arrived
but due to massive nerves her name is nowhere to be found in my brain -- enters the room I too follow.
"Mr. Payne, this is Morgana Drake, she is interviewing to be your assistant."
I step out from behind her and see a man at a large modern wood desk with his head down tapping at his phone. His arm lifts and he points to a chair in front of his desk. Squaring my shoulders I stride in a confident manner to the appointed chair, lower myself and plaster the most syrupy sweet smile on my face. Here goes nothing!
Mr. Payne's head lifts and in that moment the years of planning, research, petty jobs that caused blisters too numerous to count, and good old fashioned hard work dissolve into a cloud of fog. A thick, stifling fog that is blurring my vision and making it hard to breathe. I can't think. The only notion that keeps entering my brain is ... hot damn, he's gorgeous.
My fingers curl at my side to prevent them from molesting his thick brown hair. They want to do silly things like play hairdresser. I try to turn my attention away from his hair to his eyes, which just makes it worse. They are a cloudless blue and I think I can hear the faint sounds of a seagull in the distance. Okay, Morgana, focus on his strong nose or chiseled jaw or his ... oh God I can't stop myself. Now I am wet in all the right places.
This. Is. Not. Good.
Chapter 2 - THE After Effects ...
It's been three days since THE interview and as I mentioned in my previous post Mr. Henrik Payne is known to be a ball buster/vagina smasher and a very handsome one at that. I am starting to think that's not the correct phrasing when describing the man. A more appropriate analysis is silent but deadly. To get a full understanding of what I am explaining, I'll take you back to the beginning. It all starts on a beautiful autumn day, the year 1985. A young couple named Annette and James Drake ... oh wait that is WAY too far back. Let me start again.
When I last left you I happened to be sitting in a sticky fog of hormonal hyperventilation. It takes a few minutes for that to clear and for me to come back to my senses. At one point Mr. Payne becomes so alarmed at my state he directs me to lie on his couch until I feel well enough to continue with the interview. To say I am mortified greatly undersells the situation. At this moment, as color returns to my face, I start to plan my suicide. Death by pints of ice cream, candy bars and hours of 30 Rock reruns.
Eventually I do complete the interview which isn't at all how I imagined it to be. Mr. Payne stares at his phone, computer or my resume the whole time. Every few minutes the interview is interrupted with phone calls or emails he "just has to deal with." I take it as a sign of his typical working day and adjust my answers accordingly. Even his rapid fire questioning I accept with ease, despite my earlier mishap. What I am not prepared for is his robotic like expression.
I will let you in on a little secret. Something that has allowed me to work my way up the corporate ladder so quickly. I can read people. There are tiny little tics and facial expressions people give off without realizing it that can tell me everything I need to know. I learned this trick from my roommate, Jan, in college. She was a psychology major. Apparently there is a whole field of study in the area of body language.
Anyway, like the desperate woman I am I try to read this man's face. Nothing. Not even a flush of his cheeks. So, I have to just give my answers as best I can and pray to the mighty god THE, ruler of all things THE, that he/she will see fit to make Mr. Payne like what comes out of my mouth.
This is when the silent part enters the story. The interview ends, only I have no idea it is finished because he never tells me. I just sit there like an idiot smiling at him, trying not to fantasize about his strong arms as he continues typing away at his computer. Finally he stands and leaves the room. I remain seated for another fifteen minutes until the blonde woman who originally showed me into the room comes back.
"Ms. Drake. The interview is over. Mr. Payne left this for you."
She walks over to where I am still seated, handing me an envelope and then exits. Stunned, I pick up my bag and make my way out to the lobby elevators. One opens and I step into the barren box. I must have really pissed him off, if he left without a word. Perhaps he became aware of my leering. As I make a mental list of all the possible things that could have ruined the interview, almost fainting topping the list, I glance down at the envelope and decide to open it. My shaking hands rip the paper and pull out the white letter with the black Times New Roman typeface. My eyes widen and my brain takes a few seconds to comprehend the words spaced neatly on the page.
I bring my hand to my mouth to stifle the scream that fights to break free while tears run down my face. How is this even possible?
Chapter 3 - THE Letter ...
I feel sick as in I-shouldn't-have-had-the-last-half-of-the-eggnog-latte sick. Have you ever read something that isn't quite right, so you read it several times before the words actually sink in? That is my reaction to Mr. Payne's letter. It's ... odd. I still have no idea if I got the job. You can read it and be the judge (and let me know I'm not crazy!).
Dear Ms. Drake:
Thank you for your time today. Our meeting was quite informative.
I'm going to stop right here for a moment. These first two lines are standard. He most likely uses these sentences on every business correspondence he has and probably some personal ones. Imagine him sending an email to a girlfriend:
Dear Bimbo (because I imagine that is the type of woman he dates ... what? Stop looking at me like that!);Thank you for the blow job today. It was very relaxing.
Anyway, back to the letter ...
You need to be here at 8:15 a.m. sharp tomorrow. Please meet with Mr. Greg Shapiro the manager in the mailroom located in the basement. He will dictate what you are to do over the course of the week.
I will stop here too because ... what ... is ... that! Why is the manager of the mailroom overseeing my week? I didn't interview to be his assistant only to wind up a mailroom clerk. At this point I keep reading those two lines over and over again believing I have gone temporarily insane. Finally giving up, I move on.
Head to HR to handle your paperwork. I like my coffee black.
Sincerely,
Mr. Henrik Payne
Vice President, Sales & Marketing at Mimir
That last line: I like my coffee black ... okay? See, this is what I am talking about. Confusing, right? That's what I thought, so I take the elevator back upstairs to the twenty-eighth floor. I march over to Mr. Payne's office door, it’s closed, so I knock.
"Who is it?"
His deep voice rumbles through the door. I choose to be bold, not wait for permission to open the door, and march in demanding that he explain himself.
So I crack open the door just enough to pop my head through and say, "Mr. Payne?" In a voice so weak if I had strep throat he would have had a better chance at hearing me.
"Who are ... Ms. Drake?"
I open the door farther and step just inside, leaving the door ajar in case I need to bolt. So much for my boldness.
"Mr. Payne, I have a question with the letter you left me."
He groans and moves his attention back to his computer, clicking away with his mouse.
"It should be self-explanatory, Ms. Drake. You need to start work tomorrow at 8:15. What about that confuses you? You did just interview for the job did you not?"
My heart is pounding in my ears as I feel a bead of sweat slowly trickle down the side of my face. I am glad Mr. Payne isn't looking at me because now he can't witness a woman melting into a gooey mess of fear. I clear my throat before continuing, willing my voice to sound strong even if my body refuses to cooperate.
"Yes, I interviewed to be your assistant, not a mailroom clerk."
He stills mid type. I watch as his fists clench and he carefully swivels his chair to face me. My mind is screaming at me right now. She's telling me, Why did you poke that hornets' nest with a stick?
"Ms. Drake. I am not in the habit of explaining my orders to anyone, least of all my assistant. But, if you m
ust insist on harassing me I will explain a few things, so you can leave me in peace. I have rules, for myself, and anyone who works for me. The number one rule is know this company from the ground up. In order to understand this business and the people who run it, you will have to get to know them and what they do. So, each week I will have you working in a different department until I feel you understand enough to assist me in helping it function. Are we clear?"
I nod my head as my voice has long since packed her bags and left the building. Traitor!
"Now leave before I regret my decision in hiring you. Oh, and everything in that letter is a part of your duties for this week, even getting my coffee in the morning. I arrive by eight thirty and expect it then. Goodbye, Ms. Drake."
I clear my throat and bribe my voice to return with thoughts of warm tea.
"Thank you, Mr. Payne."
I leave, closing the door behind me. I take two steps and collapse to the ground. My body giving out from the stress of the day with the dueling feelings of joy and fear racking my insides. I sit on the gray carpet looking at the wool pills in the floor trying to gather my thoughts when I hear a different male voice from above.
"Are you all right? Here let me help you."
I look up to see a man who could easily pass for a Nordic god if he wasn't wearing a navy suit with a red tie. It’s as if Thor met Brad Pitt, defied the laws of reality and biology, had a three way with David Beckham which then produced the man reaching down for me. I stare at his hand unable to handle two hot men in suits in one day. Is it a requirement that all the male employees be studly? If so, thank God I got this job!
Regaining my senses I take his hand and come to standing.
"Thank you. I just tripped on the carpet." I lie trying to save face.
The Thor/Pitt/Beckham love sandwich chuckles and gives me the sweetest, heart arresting smile.
Cake Love: All Things Payne Page 21
