Friday afternoon at one and I'm trying to get everything done so that I can enjoy some well earned rest over the weekend. The phone rings and my boss informs me that I'm booked on the night flight to New York. There's an emergency and apparently, I'm the only person equipped to stave off complete disaster.
I drive home, grab the suitcase which I keep packed for such times and change into comfortable traveling clothes. Actually, it's my favorite traveling outfit and consists of a baggy pair of black jeans, a long-sleeved, ultra-soft, oversize, white mens shirt, and a pair of black hightop sneakers. Underneath, I wear a black sleeping bra with a front closure, black cotton panties and black and white striped knee socks. I'm no beauty and I could afford to lose about 10 kilos, but these kind of clothes suit me and in them I tend to attract a lot of positive notice.
As usual, my boss booked my ticket without reserving a window or aisle seat for me, so I'm stuck in the middle of a row of three. On both sides are tall businessmen wearing suits, loosened ties and stubble. At least they are slim and the one on my right is quite pretty with his black curls and long, long eyelashes. The other isn't handsome, but is quite rugged looking and is actually more attractive to me. All things considered, I've had to give up my armrests to worse candidates.
I lean my seat back as far as possible - about 6 centimeters - pull my arms in and close my eyes. When I open them, it's almost dark in the cabin and most of the inhabitants are sleeping. I wriggle a little in a rather hopeless effort to get more comfortable. As I do so, I look over at the man on the right. His eyes are open and he is ogling my chest. I look down and see that the buttons on my shirt are gaping open and that my breasts are just barely covered. A glance to the left informs me that the other passenger is finding it fascinating to watch the first man observing me. Both men notice me watching them at about the same time and they look away quickly, but are unable to do anything about their increased breathing rates or the rather impressive tents in their suit pants.
It only takes a couple more little wiggles to bring their eyes back to me. The guy on the left slowly lifts a hand and, giving me every opportunity to move away or say no, lays it gently on top of my left breast. Then he slips his thumb and forefinger under both layers of cloth and rolls my rapidly stiffening nipple between them. As soon as the man on the right notices that I'm not complaining, he slides his hand under my shirt and runs a finger along the edge of my bra on the right side.
My left hand companion slides a blanket from under his seat, and shakes it over the three of us. He dips his head under the cover and, lifting the soft material of my bra away from my breast, draws my nipple into his mouth and suckles strongly. His hand wanders down my stomach and slips beneath my pants and underwear; a finger slicks into my wetness and strokes rhythmically back and forth.