As the plane touched down at Gatwick, I felt relief flooding through my body. Petrified of flying since an incident on a British Airways flight from New York (a disturbed passenger, airline staff assaulted, a hushed, frantic though thankfully fruitless search for an on-board explosive) two years ago, I subjected myself to hours of silent, personal angst by taking up a conference gig in Atlanta this time.
But I was almost home; from London, I had only to suffer the one-hour connection to Amsterdam, which I called home for the time being. Still, I mentally cursed myself for turning down the direct option via KLM, which would have spared me the last unbearable leg.
In my preoccupation up until landing, I had barely noticed the constant glances in my direction from my neighbour of two seats over on the plane, a far above-average looker by typical airline seating standards. My luck was typically sub-standard or so I thought before I became too petrified of air travel to even notice these things.
Now we had landed, I glanced over in my neighbour's direction only to make direct eye contact with the stranger. Yes, quite above average, I mused. The pools of his dark eyes transfixed me. His lustrous, wavy hair appealingly framed masculine features and angular jawline. His physique was lean yet toned under his light blue cotton dress shirt. Without breaking our gaze, he picked up a newspaper from his lap, neatly folded it, reached under the seat with long, elegant fingers to collect his briefcase, and reluctantly (it seemed) turned toward the exit. Realising that the plane was emptying, I collected my carry-on items and quickly exited the aircraft.
Thankfully, my company had upgraded me to business class for this flight, which also meant I could kill wait time in the airline lounge. I still had two hours before boarding for the connecting flight commenced, so I thought to use the lounge showers to freshen up and to distract myself from the prospect of getting on another flight, albeit a short one.
I was still a bit uptight when I got to the lounge but had a plan for instant relaxation. Quickly downing a flute of bubbly white, I delved into carry-on and removed my cosmetics bag, alongside the clear plastic Ziploc containing my bottles of travel-sized liquids.
As I crossed the lounge, I scanned the room with latent curiosity and found myself locking eyes with the attractive stranger from the plane. Removed from the confines of the airline cabin, my mind roved as my gaze fixed on his generous lips. I experienced a sudden fluttering in my stomach and a liquid heat spreading between my legs. Should those lips brush against the soft skin of my... I realised that my face must have flushed with the sudden heat that rushed upward. Feeling purposeful (though no less aroused), I broke our gaze and rushed toward the haven of the showers.
Clicking the lock shut on the stall, I languidly undressed, noting the neat pebbles into which my nipples had transformed, and observing the sticky sheen of clear residue on the cotton of my lacy underpants, evidence of the humidity between my legs. I observed myself in the mirror of the changing stall, separated by an opaque curtain from the shower itself. Medium in height, I had kept a lean waist complemented by full breasts and round buttocks, which sometimes in the summer I would show off in short-shorts, at the risk of attracting wolf-whistles from passing urchins. I thought of the attractive stranger's gaze from the plane and its increased intensity across the greater distance of the lounge, and began to stoke myself gently. My yielding pussy offered another sluice of lubrication, coating my fingertips. I spread my juices upward from my dampened lips to my hardened clit, releasing sparks of electric pleasure.
I decided to get down to the task at hand. I removed three bottles from my liquids bag, shampoo, conditioner and small travel tube of lubricant, and from my cosmetics bag removed two vibrating dildos of different sizes, the larger with a switch for three different speeds, and the smaller with a remote control, with ten vibration patterns and intensities.
My slick lips, pink with excitement glistened as I raised one leg upon the changing room bench. I held my pussy lips open momentarily to admire the wetness. The large vibrator entered my damp slit with ease, and clenching my pussy muscles around it, kept it in place as I picked up the tube of lubricant. Squeezing a generous dollop of the cream on the fragrant dampness of my right fingers, spread my buttocks with my left and found my puckered asshole, spreading the cream around its rim. As I began to massage the dildo in my pussy slowly in and out, I teased my back opening with the penetration of one, then two fingertips. Pleasure quickened my breath, but left my movements flowing and languid.
Feeling dangerous, I unlocked the door of the changing room, then picking up the second smaller vibe and its remote. I then stepped into the shower and drawing the curtain, set the water to cold, to keep my nipples razor-sharp.
