Still the captain

Different city. Same jacket. I made her keep the cabin-crew scarf on. She fucked me with the toy from my wash bag because the man from the hotel bar had already finished and was sitting on the floor looking wrecked. He is forty. She is thirty-six. I mention it because people get romantic and stupid about uniforms.

Don't get comfortable, I told him. You came in me. You're going to watch me clean the plate.

I lay back, one heel on the desk, jacket open, and I made her hold the toy in me while I pushed his cum out around it. Then I pulled her hand away, folded down, and ate. I'm flexible enough and mean enough to do it properly. I kept eye contact with him the whole time. He tried the floor. No, I said. You watched the landing attitude. You can watch this.

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and straightened the jacket in the mirror. The degradation is not that they laugh. They don't. The degradation is that they have to sit in a crew van eight hours later and remember the captain licking herself clean like it was a checklist. I said goodnight in the same tone I use for gate changes. Dry. Done. Correct.