Author's Notes:
This is meant to be one of what will be a series of "one-offs" featuring the titular character Cheslea "Choo-Choo" and her slut-tacular sexual escapades. I have written this one specifically for the winter writing event since I enjoy getting out there and participating with the community. Others will follow as I have ideas of what shenanigans she could get into.
Chelsea, an eighteen-year-old college drop-out from Palletain, is coming home for Christmas. However, Chelsea hates flying. How exactly will she distract herself? And will she fall into old habits?
Thanks as always to my fantastic editor Kenjisato! Vote for him for Most Helpful Editor 2022!!!
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Chelsea Choo-Choo the Christmas Flight Floozy
"Now boarding zone three for Adrian Air Flight 672 to Palletain, please check your boarding passes to confirm your zone right next to your seat number. Thank you, zone three."
Huffing and puffing Chelsea crouched at her waist and put her hands on her knees, as she finally found her gate. It was like the world was spinning around her as she ran full force through Isador International Airport, trying to find her connection to her hometown of Palletain.
It wasn't like she had a short layover, Chelsea's time management skills were just that bad. How could she have known that this airport would be a labyrinth of holiday travelers, gate numbers, stores, Christmas trees, and terminals? It was not as straight of a shot as she had thought, when she sat down at the airport bar an hour ago.
So, here it was, after leveraging her fake ID for a few shots, and a mile-long sprint through three terminals, she felt like collapsing next to the gate queue, just as they called her zone.
"Ma'am, are you on this flight?" The male gate attendant waved eagerly to her, almost hurrying her to board.
"Yes...I... Yes, I am." She struggled with her breathy words.
"Oh great, we are ready for ya, hun."
As the world ceased spinning, Chelsea began to see she was one of three people in Zone 3 boarding this flight. A stuffy-looking lady with a side-swept, can-I-speak-to-your-manager-type hairdo was scanning her boarding pass at the door as she scrunched her nose, pulling her wimp of a husband along behind her. She was bitching about something that a grown woman should have developed a coping mechanism for a decade ago, as they proceeded down the jetway. Mentally, Chelsea hoped that she was far away from that pair, less they smell the alcohol on her breath.
It was Chelsea's goal to make it home for Christmas without incident. It was her first time home in a year for her, and when she had left, it was not on the best of terms. Chelsea had a... reputation, that followed her and brought a level of angst to the family. Despite their judgment of her, she did miss them, and this trip was meant to reconcile some things. The fact she just ran up to her gate after drinking under the pretense of a fake ID wasn't exactly the best start, but she could recover from here.
Taking a deep breath, she sauntered up to the attendant and handed over her boarding pass to the aging man with the walrus mustache. She did her best to look sober, despite the less-than-graceful trip on the non-existent snag in the carpet, leading up to the scanner.
A few beeps later, she was cleared down the jetway.
"Have a wonderful flight, sweetie, Merry Christmas." The wrinkled man handed her back her boarding pass, stealing a look down her abdomen as a halo of skin peaked out around her waist.
"Merry Christmas, handsome!" Chelsea cocked a hip to the side in an overt gesture to be cute, as she gave the attendant a two-fingered salute before stepping down the length of the passage before her.
A brief look over her shoulder confirmed he was fully drinking her in. The shots were certainly catching up with her as she enjoyed the attention.
Chelsea hated flying, hence the reason she started this trip off with a drink. The thought of rising and falling constantly, and the hell it played on her equilibrium, reigned havoc on her stomach. It was less butterflies and more like a squadron of sparrows in her gut. At the door of the plane, a smiling flight attendant directed her with graceful hands down the center aisle towards the cheap-seats.
She gave Chelsea a strange look, more than likely because her face was as white as a sheet. Her eyes were wide as she felt dizzy stumbling down the aisle towards her seat, 20B.
As she tripped along and hit each aisle chair, and occasional passenger, like a ping-pong ball, the small girl noticed how few people were on the plane. It felt like only about two dozen or so, and many of the seats were left unoccupied as she passed rows and rows of emptiness.
Bumping into the snooty bitch she saw at the gate, she received an evil glare like a snake in the bushes being stepped on. Her face became scrunched, and as Chelsea moved on, muttering could be heard about her.
"Go off," Chelsea snorted all too loudly. A 'tsk' and a sharp head turn behind her, came from the subject of her ire.
Ahead, she saw two rather large men, one muscular and bald with tattoos along his arms, and the other fat and bald with a kind face. They were sitting on the aisle and window respectively. Glancing drunkenly at her ticket, she figured that with her luck she was right between them, and after a moment of thought, she felt it, indeed, was her luck.
As lustful thoughts ran through her head, the little devil in Chelsea's gut started to cackle, tickling the nerves in a special place. When she came to the row with the big men and realized it was indeed her own, she didn't hesitate, taking her seat right between them as she squeezed her small body, ass first, in front of the muscular man in the aisle seat.
A normal girl like her, cute, petite, and alone, would have grabbed one of the many empty rows to claim it for herself. No one would have told her to take her middle seat between two large and strange men, the flight attendants certainly wouldn't care. But Chelsea took it anyway, almost like she desired it, and that was because subconsciously, she did.
The muscular man was exactly her type, someone who looked like they could manhandle her, roughly rearrange her guts, and make her cream with a mean scowl. The fat man seemed sweet and was the type to be pretty thankful for what she had to give. Both had their place in Chelsea's sex-food pyramid.
Chelsea was a slut. A notorious slut. At the college she dropped out of rather quickly, she was known as 'Chelsea Choo-Choo' an apt name given for the trains run on her whenever she was given the chance. The proximity to man-meat made her shiver. Though a large part of her reputation in her home of Palletain was because of her promiscuity, she sat down in that middle seat anyway.
Snuggling in the seat, she wasn't shy about bumping arms with the larger and older men. She noticed the greying hair of the hot muscular man's beard. The heat coming off of them was like a drug to her.
They both were ignorant of her character, and more so annoyed that this girl didn't have the grace to find her own row.
"Hi, sorry, Merry Christmas." She cutely shrugged her shoulders as her flirtatious tone surprised them.
"Err, yeah, Merry Christmas." They both muttered, trying not to check her out.
She was cute, and had that going for her, but what unsuspecting stranger would think they were getting anything out of that? Unless they were extremely arrogant. Chelsea liked the unsuspecting strangers the most. An arrogant fool would take her for granted.
"Wait... damn." She grasped the armrests, her neighbors had surrendered so easily as she caught herself in the act. Both men looked at her peculiarly, as she voiced her thoughts out loud. How much more annoying could this girl get?
It was happening again, this was how she gets in trouble each time. She just sluts herself out whenever the chance is given. And coming home for the holidays for the first time, she wanted to come with a better impression, for her parents' sake.
Grasping the armrests, she closed her eyes and tried to think of anything but sex. Dolphins, the latest Sena Lark movie, Coastal Jazz, fun facts from her college Continental History Class, anything to keep her mind off of it.
