His shirt clung to his back as he headed for Baggage. She wasn't there to greet him. That was her first mistake. She'd pay for that.

He stood with the flight-weary hordes and watched the carousel go 'round. It went around twice before his suitcase appeared. His eyes found the tight ass of a seven-year-old. It was wrapped in denim and bubble-shaped. Her thighs were like chocolate and muscled like a grown woman's. He considered taking her. Then he considered the struggle her father would put up. Guy had steel rigging for arms and pylons for legs. He kept the little cooze on a tight leash - that much was obvious. Greg could understand why. Dad was probably fucking her. Probably giving her goodnight kisses with his cock.

The carousel revolved some more until the case appeared. It was buried under a fur coat. Greg threw the fur coat aside and wrestled the case off the metal. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle and pushed past the little cooze. He stole himself one last look at those chocolate thighs (that met, no doubt, beneath a chocolatey pink cunt) and lost himself in the exiting crowd.

Where was she? She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to be true to her word.

The taxi swung onto the freeway and accelerated with a shake towards Daytona. The moon floated in the clouds above and a cold chill tinged the Miami air.

Where was she? Fuckin bitch would pay dearly - he'd make sure of that.

He had a badly scribbled address on the back of a dog-eared business card. "Gimme some light back here, driver," he said in the dark.

The driver, a quiet Mexican, hit the light switch and gave Greg something to read by. "Johnson Road," Greg said. "Thirty-eight."

The Mexican nodded. There was a photo of his family on the dash. Cute wife. Teenage son and pre-teen daughter. She was a honey. Looked a treat in a bikini. A green one. All potential curves and sunny smile. Wouldn't say no to that, thought Greg. Wouldn't say no, willing or not. Of course, it didn't matter to Greg. He always took them willing or not. It was the taking part that mattered. Fuck the rest.

Greg paid the driver as they parked two houses up. He didn't want her seeing him getting out of the car. He'd changed his mind. He'd modified his approach. He wanted it to be a surprise now. He wanted to make her pay.

The taxi vanished into the Miami haze. Greg untucked his shirt and loosened his top button. Jesus Christ, it was hotter than a Mexican whore.

He approached the house. It was surrounded by a jungle of native trees. Vines and shit, too. And there was a stack of beer bottles piled against the side of the house. Greg rested his case against her car - a Renault - and looked for lights inside. He had to squint to see through the curtains. No dice. Nobody home. Fuck it!

Greg ran a moist hand through his hair and leaned against the front door. He couldn't believe it. Of all the fuckin luck! He'd been in the air for twenty hours. With one miserable stop for fuel in the hothouse that was Honolulu Airport. Then it was back on the plane again.

He'd scored once with an attendant. She was a redhead. Pure evil. Reckless. He'd taken her in the Men's and eaten her ass out. Then he'd fucked it and filled it. It was nice while it lasted, but it didn't last long. He tried again a couple of hours later. With some success. Just a quickie this time. Into the Women's. Panties down. Lips spread open. Cock inside. A little Good Time Screwing and then she'd sucked his cock straight out of her cunt. She made him promise not to blow. He promised with fingers in the "x" position . Then he blasted her womb with sperm and kissed her hard on the lips. He took her panties, too. As a memento.

The rest of the flight was two bad Hollywood remakes and a teasing little bitch and her Gameboy. She was eight, if that. She noticed his eyes on her and gave him a view of her panties. They were orange with shapes on them. Triangles. Squares. An octagon. She kept her legs apart and eyes on the Gameboy. She couldn't play for shit, but she was having a good time - a real good time! - playing him. "I want you," he mouthed as she stared at him. "I want your cunt." Little bitch swallowed that one with lumps because she closed her legs and turned the lights out. An hour later when she was sleeping, Greg reached across and pressed a finger into her panty-crotch. Jesus, she was so soft. He tried imagining what her ass would taste like. He tried imagining how she'd look at him as he filled her cunt with semen for the first time. He tried imagining life without her, too, because, hey, he wasn't going anywhere with her. Not with Mummy riding shotgun and Daddy sleeping off a hangover in the next seat. Still, Little Miss Gameboy was sweet while she lasted.....(cont)