Weather Report Pt. 01

The word "Delayed" on the screens at the gate in Frankfurt glowed repeatedly. Every chair was occupied by weary travelers, most of us facing a Friday night connection back home to Hamburg, thwarted by the brewing storm. My attempt to lose myself in a book failed; my whole body ached and I desperately wanted to go home.

I had clapped eyes on a flight attendant who was probably on her way home too. She was in uniform: dark blue skirt with yellow accents, a white shirt and a yellow scarf around her neck, and she looked tired. Her hair was bleach-blonde and straight, cut on jaw-length, and her striking eyes were piercing blue.

She noticed me despite my best efforts not to seem like a creep. "This is a mess," she muttered in English, likely having overheard my earlier phone call conducted in fractured German

"Yeah, tell me about it," I replied, my voice low.

She glanced over and smiled. "Heading to Hamburg too?" she said, pronouncing the name of the city in her native accent.

"Yep," I responded. "Finn. Nice to meet you, too."

"Lena," she responded. "Where are you from?" she added after studying me for a brief moment.

"Denmark. Close to the border."

"Interesting, yet you don't speak German fluently." she said. "And where were you?"

Her tone about the my lack of German skills was slightly condescending

"Valencia," I replied. "A work trip. And you?"

"Long-haul flights are my usual route," she said, rubbing her temples. "Osaka this time. Just heading home for the weekend."

"You must be exhausted."

She scoffed softly. "Yes. But short-haul wouldn't allow me to live in Hamburg."

"A brief silence settled between us. Then, her tone remaining conversational, she inquired, "So, what line of work brings you to Spain?"

"Engineering," I said, keeping it vague. "We are involved in a large project near Valencia."

"That sounds intense," she said, a slight furrow in her brow.

"It has its moments," I admitted. "But I'm on health-and-safety. So, I'm typically swamped in paperwork."

"I understand," she replied. "Every role with responsibility comes with its own set of challenges."

"What about you?" I asked, redirecting the conversation. "Japan's a long way. How many countries have you visited?"

She sighed, a hint of weariness in her voice. "Many of them, mostly in Asia though. But our stays are usually brief."

I chuckled. "I can imagine. You must see some interesting things, though. New cities, sights, local food."

"Interesting is one word for it," she said, a wry smile on her lips. "Mostly, it's just a lot of people in a confined space, all wanting to get somewhere else."

"Sounds intense," I echoed, mirroring her earlier choice of words

"It has its moments," she replied. "Long hours, demanding passengers, the usual stress."

The low hum of the airport faded into background noise that didn't seem to have an effect on our conversation. To be honest, speaking to Lena brought an injection of energy into my otherwise tired body and mind. She told me how she first thought that the flight attendant job was a temporary fix, a stopgap until she secured a position in her field--she said she had a degree in French literature--but it had become permanent as it offered flexibility and the pay was substantially better than any teaching opportunity She also asked me spot-on questions about my job as a site engineer, which made me wonder whether she used to date someone in my field.

Then she shifted, her eyes widening slightly.

"Oh, damn," she murmured, her gaze scanning the floor. "Think I just lost an earring."

There was no sound, as the background noise covered everything but I saw the small glint of silver near her feet.

"Here," I offered, already beginning to bend down. "Allow me."

As I drew closer, a subtle, warm floral scent reached me, a striking contrast to the sterile air of the terminal.

I went down to one knee and my eyes were drawn to her legs, with the beautifully shaped calves covered in dark, semi-opaque tights. Her shoes, high-heeled but with a practical square heel; her outfit was simple--her comfort was the priority--yet it had an elegance that brought butterflies in my stomach.

The whole moment lasted a few seconds until I found the small silver earring. "Here you go," I said, my voice a little rougher than intended.

She took it, her fingers touching mine momentarily. "Thanks," she said, her eyes meeting mine. "You're a lifesaver."

There was something in her gaze that I couldn't properly decipher. A spark, maybe? Or just gratitude? I couldn't tell. But it was enough to make my pulse quicken. I reckoned she noticed my reaction when I approached her but that didn't mean anything; she could simply enjoy my interest without returning it.

Then came the announcement, cold and final, confirmed our worst fears; our flight had been cancelled and we were prompted to head to the passenger assistant counters for rebooking. A collective sigh, heavy with resignation, swept through the gate. Yet, I couldn't help but admire the stoic restraint of the German travelers, even in the face of this disruption.

Lena tapped her feet on the floor. "Just my luck," she muttered.

"Well," I said, trying to inject a note of optimism, "at least they're offering accommodation."

A frazzled airline employee, her voice strained, with dark rings around her eyes, confirmed the details: a nearby hotel, vouchers, and a shuttle bus.

The hotel was, as expected, functional. Clean, but nothing to write home about. We stood in the lobby, waiting endlessly for our room assignments. The air was thick with the shared exhaustion of stranded travelers and the exhausted receptionists who couldn't wait for their shift to come to an end.

"Well," I said, a touch of awkwardness creeping into my voice, "at least it's a bed."

"Definitely," Lena agreed.

The hotel clerk, clearly overwhelmed, finally handed us our key cards. "Rooms 302 and 314," she said, her voice flat.

As we were walking towards the elevators, I felt a surge of something. An opportunity? A risk? I badly wanted to ask her to dinner, to prolong the connection we'd formed at the airport. But the words couldn't seem to come out of mouth

"Well," I began, then trailed off, unsure how to proceed.

Lena turned to me, with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah?"

I hesitated, then opted for a safe, albeit lame, farewell. "Just good night," I said, forcing a smile. "Get some rest."

"You too," Lena replied, her smile widening slightly. Then, she paused, as if considering something. "Actually," she said, her voice a touch lower, " Pick me up in half an hour. Room 314."

I blinked, surprised. "Pick you up?"

"For dinner," she clarified, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "There's a restaurant downstairs. And I'm starving. You are coming, aren't you?"

I felt a wave of relief; she taken charge and put me out of the tough spot. My overthinking had nearly cost me this opportunity. "Yeah, I'll be there," I assured her.

I knocked on the door of room 314 exactly thirty minutes after we parted ways. The door swung open, and Lena stood there, still in her uniform. The jacket was gone, but the yellow scarf, now loosened, hung casually around her neck.

"Hey," she said, smiling. "Come in."

I stepped inside, surprised. "I thought we were heading downstairs?"

"Change of plans," she said, gesturing towards the small table near the window. "Room service."

I hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay," I said, intrigued. "Room service it is."

She picked up the room service menu, her eyes scanning the options. "What are you in the mood for? They have surprisingly decent burgers, and the pasta isn't half bad. Unfortunately, it's not my first time here."

As we discussed our dinner options, I found myself relaxing. The room was small, but the atmosphere was surprisingly comfortable. We placed our order, but the hotel kitchen, overwhelmed by the influx of stranded passengers, informed us of an approximately hour-long wait.

"So," I said, after we'd placed our order, "room service. Never had room service before."

She chuckled. "I'm tired. And this way, we can actually talk without shouting over the hotel's 'ambiance'. I bet their dining hall is full of our fellow passengers"

The conversation flowed effortlessly, fueled by the shared exhaustion and the unexpected intimacy of the situation. We talked about our travels, our work, our lives back home--after all, we lived in the same city. I found myself drawn to her sharp wit. And I couldn't deny the subtle pull of attraction that was ever-present.

"You know," she said, her eyes sparkling slightly, "I was expecting a disaster of a night. But this is surprisingly nice."

"Yeah," I agreed, my gaze lingering on her face. "Unexpectedly nice."

"Maybe," she said, and let out a soft chuckle, "we should make a habit of unexpected nights."

A moment of silence followed. Lena looked tired but her smile was inviting and flirtatious. Then a tiny clink echoed in the small space.

"Oh, crap," she said. "Dropped my earring again."

She didn't make any attempt to look for it herself. Instead, she leaned back slightly.

"It's right there," she said, her voice almost playful. "Near my feet."

It was obvious she was playing with me. And it was also obvious I knew what was going on, like when I picked it up for her at the gate earlier

"Would you mind?" she asked. "Picking it up for me?"

I found myself wanting to play along.

I felt a strange mix of anticipation and something else, something akin to excitement? It was a subtle power play.

"Of course," I said.

As I got closer, I could really smell her perfume, a warm, flowery smell. I found the tiny silver hoop by her heel. It was so small and delicate, but suddenly it was the most important thing in the room.

"There," I said and held out the earring.

She took it, her fingers brushing mine. "Thanks," she said, her eyes meeting mine. "You're a gentleman."

The way she looked at me showed she knew what was up. She got it. She understood the attraction between us. And she wasn't just having fun; there was something else there too.

I remained down for a few more seconds of silence that felt like an eternity. "Why don't you put your steady hands to good use?"

This was going way faster than I expected, but I wasn't going to stop now.

"What... what do you mean?" I stammered.

She leaned back; her eyes glued on my face. "I mean," she said, "I'm tired, and my feet really need a massage."

The playful banter had taken an intimate turn. She was taking a risk; a risk that I couldn't ever have taken myself, but she was ready to reap the rewards.

"Right now?" I asked, my voice a little rough.

She nodded. "Now."

I hesitated for a second, then slowly went down on both knees. As I reached out, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her tights, I realized this was real. I removed her shoes and she rested her left foot on my thigh.

I couldn't stop looking at the nice shape of her legs, the way the slightly see-through nylon hugged her skin, showing off her curves. It was simple, but still really elegant.

I started to gently massage the arches of her feet, my fingers moving on the thin material. Soft moans started coming from her. I tried to be as gentle as I could. It felt like a really personal moment, and I was pretty sure there was more to come.

Lena shifted in her chair, a subtle movement that drew my attention. Her eyes were shining. "You know," she said quietly, "you're pretty good at that."

"Am I?" I asked, my voice slightly rough.

She nodded. "Very good," she said, her voice getting even quieter

By that time, I had moved to her left foot and the right one had taken its spot on my thighs. But it didn't say there for long; soon, she moved it upwards, running through my torso, all my way to my neck, rubbing the nylon fabric against my skin.

"I wonder what it would feel like to have your lips on my feet."

She wasn't really asking, so I kept massaging her other foot. But then, a few seconds later, her right foot touched my face.

"Kiss them," she said, her voice more like an order now.

I wanted to do it and I obeyed without second thoughts. There was almost a vanilla scent on her tights, probably from a softener.

"You know," she said quietly. "I took a shower after I got to my room," she told me. "And I put on new tights."

I didn't respond; I simply kept on with my duty. Then she stopped me, and moved her feet away. I remained on my knees, waiting for her to lead the way. She removed the scarf from her neck and tied it around mine, creating a makeshift leash.

"Just... a little something," she said softly, "to keep you close." She extended her legs again. "Carry on. With your lips."

Like she told me to, I kept kissing her feet, but now I had her satin scarf around my neck.

"You're an easy man to read. I assumed you have a thing for uniforms. That's why I kept it on. And it paid off. You're kissing my feet with my scarf as your leash."

She had read me perfectly from the beginning, steering me in her direction.

"So," she purred, her voice a low, almost silken sound, "are you pleased, Finn?"

"Yes," I admitted; it was pointless to say otherwise.

"Now that we're here and you're taking care of my feet," she said, and her left foot moved to my crotch, "it would be better if you said something like 'Yes, Miss Lena.'"

I was ready to try things. She'd had me kiss her feet, she was rubbing them on me, and now she wanted me to call her "Miss Lena"; it was like a dream come true.

"Yes, Miss Lena."

"Massage my feet Finn. With your tongue."

Her direct order sent a shiver down my spine.

"Well?" she added. "Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked. "When someone tells you to do something, you're supposed to say you will. Out loud."

"Yes, Miss, Lena," I responded immediately.

"You're a quick learner, Finn."

I kissed the fabric of her foot, then ran my tongue from her ankle to her arch. There was a faint vanilla scent, likely from fresh tights

It was the first time I'd ever done anything like this, so I tried to be really careful. I spent extra time on her toes--she seemed to like that--and then moved to the soft curve of her foot. Right then, I wasn't embarrassed at all; the way things had gone between us, serving her feet felt normal, and we were both into it. She made no comments at all, however soft moans came out of her mouth; she only told me to look down while I was serving her, when I tried to make eye contact.

"This was exactly what I needed tonight; thank god the flight was cancelled."

The way she incorporated witty and cheerful remarks in the otherwise "formal" tone of the night was excellent and it really helped calm my nerves.

What she said about me being easy to read stayed with me when it was quiet for a bit. Nobody had ever told me that before. Maybe I was looking at her too hard at the airport, or maybe I was just too tired to fight it. Usually, I'm not this easy to get.

"We're not done yet," she announced. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Miss Lena," I said.

"Undress," she commanded, her voice firm yet laced with a playful undertone. "All of it."

"And then?" I asked.

"And then," she continued, her gaze fixed on mine, "lie down on the bed. On your back."

"Isn't the food close to arriving?"

"When I tell you to do something, what did we say you're supposed to do?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and kind of swinging her right foot."

"My apologies, Miss Lena," he responded.

"Good."

I took a deep breath and lay down on the bed, uncertain of Lena's next move. My guess was that she would somehow restrain me, but other than that, I had no idea. Once I was looking up at the ceiling, Lena came closer, like she was checking me out. Then she reached under her skirt and took off her tights, almost without a sound. She came even closer and motioned for me to put my arms up; I have to admit, she was really good at it, using her tights as a kind of rope to tie my wrists to the bedpost.

"You've served me well, Finn," she purred, her voice low but steady. "Up to this point. And I think you deserve an award."

Turning my head, I saw her reaching under her skirt again and this time she pulled down her panties; small black panties, mostly lace and satin--I guess she'd changed into those after her shower.

"And you're right. Room service will arrive at any minute. So I need you to be quiet until then. Open your mouth."

As the thong approached my lips, I noticed that it had evidence of her arousal, paired with a strong feminine scent. I opened my mouth like she said, and she pushed it in to gag me. I could taste her, and that turned me on even more. But then she stopped completely, deciding to wait for the food; she pulled a chair up to the bed and just watched me.

Then, she put her feet on my hard-on and started rubbing them a little. "If you cum on my feet," she said, "I'll punish you, and then you have to lick them clean."

The prospect of cleaning my own juices wasn't particularly tantalizing, so I tried my best to avoid an orgasm. But she wasn't making it easy; instead, she rubbed even harder every second, and it was getting harder and harder for me.

Thankfully, I was saved by room service which knocked on the door and saved me from my destined failure.

"You're lucky. I'm starving for food and sex so I won't torture you with my feet. Not tonight anyway."

She unbuttoned her shirt carefully but quickly, and I clapped eyes on her naked breasts. Her body was excellent; she had curves but she also seemed to exercise regularly, keeping in shape. I closed my eyes and felt her tongue on my swollen head. It was a combination of relief and torture.

"My appetizer," she joked and circled the head slowly and seductively. I decided not to make any further efforts to clap eyes on her and instead focus on the sensation. But then, she changed her mind. She pulled her skirt up to her hips and sat on my face after taking the gag out of my mouth. She turned to face the end of the bed, like in a sixty-nine position. "Eat," she said firmly, and I was so happy to do it.

Her labia, completely hairless, wet, and with a strong scent of arousal, looked absolutely delicious. And it really was. She flinched when my tongue touched her clit but soon she adapted and stayed still. The more I licked her, the lower her body was getting, almost cutting my airways. I tried every trick in my playbook, first on her clit, then on her lips. My beard was soon coated in her juices while my tongue hungrily consumed her.

But unluckily, she cut me short. She moved off me, unzipped her skirt and brought a condom out of her handbag. I felt like I was just something she was using for her own fun, and I had no say in anything. She quickly put the condom on me, and then she got on top; I slid in really easily.

"Stay still," she ordered with her eyes shut.

"Yes, Miss Lena," I replied softly.

She pulled me in for a kiss when she heard me call her "Miss," and I realized then that it was our first kiss.

"I like having my cum on your beard," she boasted. "Now lick my nipples."

She moved closer, so her breasts were right by my mouth; this position felt really good for both of us, and she kept moving on top of me hard and fast..

"Don't cum yet, I want more," she said.

"Yes, Miss Lena," I said again, now fully aware of the effect it had on her.

However, it was impossible for either of us to prolong the moment. I felt her pulsating, my groin was soaked, and a sudden moan confirmed that Lena had reached a climax. But she didn't stop and tried to make me orgasm too, which was easy; right after she came, I did too, and her muscles squeezed me, like she didn't want me to pull out.

"If I don't get to the bathroom in a minute, I'll sleep right here," she joked as she undid the scarf from around my neck. "I'll go first."