Sixty Seconds
The wind is fierce, tearing at my clothes, whipping my hair out from 
under my helmet, making my eyes water so bad I can hardly see.  Behind 
me, my husband is ignoring everything except his cock, which he is 
pounding into me as hard as he can, his two hands leaving bruises on my 
hips with his intensity.  I'm fighting to keep my head, to keep us level 
and straight, but I can't help screaming out my pleasure for the whole 
world to hear.  Every nerve in my body is charged with electricity, 
every muscle tense with anticipation.
"Fuck faster, you bastard!" I scream over my shoulder as time races by.  
One minute.  Sixty seconds.  That's all the time we have, and most of it 
is already gone.  Just as the clock is about to run out, I feel him jerk 
his completion in me, filling me with his seed, hopefully conceiving our 
first child.  Both of our altimeters screech before he pulls the 
ripcord, lovely yellow and orange cloth quickly billowing out above us.  
We have five minutes to compose ourselves before we land.