Her flight had landed.  At the bag carousel, I waited and waited.  Finally, she appeared:  silk top, pencil skirt, dark stockings, low heels. We both smiled. Passionately, we kissed, claimed the last remaining bag, then hailed a cab.

Barely en route, she unzipped me. A carefully manicured hand, tongue, and her lips enveloped me.

She stopped.  I groaned. Facing, she climbed and guided.  We fucked, quietly, to our orgasms.

The driver surreptitiously watched.

“Why so late to the bag claim?” I later asked.

“To slip into this body stocking for you,” she replied, raising her skirt to show me.