*Author's Note: Even though this story takes place in public, it's less focused on exhibitionism than on the erotic coupling, hence the category. Enjoy!*
*****
"Aiyeee!" I yelped at the pinch on my right ass cheek. Several people in the boarding pass line and sitting at the flight gate glanced in my direction. I clapped a hand over my mouth and felt an overwhelming need to shrink into my carry-on bag. If my skin was lighter, I would've been turning beet red.
"Are you ok?" said my friend Anna, who was standing in line in front of me.
I turned away from her and glared back at my boyfriend Martin in line behind me. He was smirking back with the cool confidence of a man who mistakenly believed I wouldn't slap him in public. Before my temper could flare, he leaned in for a soft kiss. "Your ass is irresistible," he whispered. A woman sitting near us glanced up from her phone, uncertain whether she'd heard him say what she thought he said.
"Shhhh!" I swatted his chest. Feigning anger, I rolled my eyes and turned back forward as the line crept to the gate. He stepped closer to me and I could feel his body against mine. His breath washed against my skin as he leaned in, causing goosebumps to break out along my forearms.
"Sorry, babe," he whispered in my ear. Stepping closer, he reached around my upper chest and pulled me into a tight embrace. I couldn't stay mad at him for long. I leaned my face down and kissed his forearm. "I can't wait till we get to New Orleans."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"Because I can't wait to have you backing this ass up on me while I've got you bent over the balcony of our hotel room." He swept my hair away from my neck and blew a breath of warm air down my spine and then released me. My legs turned to linguine, and I was barely able to keep myself upright and wobble forward as the line moved up. I casually lifted my free hand to my necklace and played with the charm at the end of it, trying to block my chest with my arm. Between Martin and the airport chill, there was no way that anyone looking at me would be unable to see the hard nipples poking through my thin dress.
As we boarded the plane, Anna piled into the window seat of our row and I moved into the middle seat. "Do you mind if I take the window?" Martin asked after he put our carry-on bags in the overhead compartment. "I want to take a nap and don't want them to ram me with the drink cart."
Anna nodded and we shifted around so that Martin was in the window seat, I was in the middle, and Anna was on the aisle.
"Excuse me ma'am?" Martin said to a passing flight attendant. "Could I have a blanket when you get a chance?"
The woman stopped at our row, swinging her hips like a bar waitress and thrust her chest in Martin's direction. Her heavy makeup, rail-thin frame, tiny but perky breasts, two-sizes-too-small top, and strands of carefully free-flying blonde hair made her look like she'd walked off the set of an airplane porn movie. She returned several minutes later and reached across me to hand Martin a thin, white blanket.
"Can I get you anything else?" she asked with a smile too toothy to be real.
"No, this is good. Thanks," Martin replied.
"Don't you have a pilot to blow, or something?" I muttered under my breath. She lingered for a moment longer before disappearing up the aisle behind us. "And you might want to upgrade from the child-size top," I said a little louder when she was gone.
"Paula, you said you were going to be nice this trip," Anna said as she fastened her seatbelt.
"What? I am being nice." I said as I fastened my own. "But if we're being accurate, what I actually said was 'I promise not to get us thrown out of another bar.'"
"Why do we have to go to Bourbon Street anyway?"
"That's where the action is," Martin said with closed eyes. He'd draped the blanket over both me and him and he had it pulled up to his chin like he was in bed.
"New Orleans is a treasure chest of culture," Anna countered, excitedly. "It sits at the crossroads of civilizations and you'd do yourself some good to try to take advantage of it. Mardi Gras is about more than drinking and acting stupid."
"I know. It's also about titties."
Anna's jaw fell open. She was in her mid-20s but still had all the innocence of a child.
I punched Martin in the thigh under the blanket.
"Ouch!" Martin shouted. He sat forward in his seat and peered around me at Anna. "I apologize," he said and pretended to tip an imaginary hat. "But if I'm being perfectly honest, the only treasure chest I'm interested in is the one under this blanket." He reached across and squeezed my left breast as he said it, drawing another punch to the thigh. He rolled his eyes and reached up to turn off the overhead light, bathing us in darkness. He shut his eyes again and laid his head back against the seat.
I'd been busy with work recently, which meant the flight gave Anna and I a good chance to catch up. She'd been "courting" a guy she'd met at her church. Anna refused to use the word "dating." And even though almost everyone in our friend group was going down to Mardi Gras with a significant other, Anna didn't think it was appropriate for her to invite him.
Anna's puritanical living would've been nauseating if not for her friendliness. And even though she was still a virgin, she always had an open ear when I dished about my current or past relationships. As much as she tried to pretend to be offended, her shy giggles and excited comments and questions told a different story. And I swear, during one of our phone calls, I could've sworn I heard heavy breathing and strain in her voice.
I was in the middle of telling Anna about giving Martin a blowjob while riding through an automatic carwash when a flight attendant pulled up next to us with the drink cart. I was grateful to see that it wasn't the same one from before. Anna and I both requested water. When I turned to ask Martin what he wanted to drink, his head was drooped down with his chin on his chest, so I let him sleep.
I lowered my voice and returned to my story as the cart went up the aisle. Almost as if on cue, I felt Martin's hand come to rest on my knee. It slowly slid up my leg, pushing back the hem of my dress, until it came to rest on my upper thigh. Just as I was about to protest, his hand stopped and I heard his deep breathing resume.
About ten minutes passed when I felt a slight squeeze from Martin's fingers. When I looked over, his head was still down and his eyes were closed, so I ignored it. He squeezed again and rubbed his fingertips across my skin in a small circle. As his fingers began to inch higher up my thigh, I shifted my hands into my lap to block his path. Martin angled his hand toward my inner thigh and tried to go around, but I clamped my legs shut on his hand. Deterred, he seemed content to rub his palm against my skin, so I let him be. But the longer his hand lingered there, the weaker the muscles in my legs seemed to get. Before long, my knees had fallen apart, and Martin's knuckles were rubbing against the back of mine. The only separation was the thin material of my dress—my hand above and his hand below.
Anna was complaining about her supervisor and I was doing my best to pay attention. She was saying something about him always hovering over her cubicle, but I was focused on the fact that my boyfriend was, deliberately or not, pushing against my hand through my dress. The movement was almost robotic. Back and forth. Back and forth. But it was driving my hand back against my pussy, making it more sensitive with each bump. I let it go on longer than I should have, and against my better judgement, moved my hand out of the way to give him direct access. Martin didn't miss a beat. I flexed my legs under the blanket as his fingertips pressed against my panty-covered mound.
"...So, he's still just standing there droning on about a billing report and eating a donut," Anna said, "but the only thing I can focus on is the chocolate in the middle of his tie." Anna threw her head back in laughter. I forced a chuckle even though I didn't know what the hell she was talking about.
My breath caught in my throat when I felt Martin sliding my panties to the side. I made a half-hearted attempt to brush his hand away, but he refused to stop until he was openly caressing my freshly shaven pussy lips. Always the tease, he was making it his business to stay far away from my clit. His fingers traced along one side of my pussy, up through my landing strip, and back down the other side. Every touch was as light as a feather, and he never stayed in one spot for long.
I was sliding further down in my seat trying to meet his hand without being too obvious to Anna. Blood was surging away from my brain and I was gradually losing the ability to think rationally.
