The first installment of a series chronicling young Patrice's adventures as she explores the world of modeling and her own blossoming sexuality. Patrice is real. This is a combination of her fantasies, my fantasies, and her actual experiences.
Patrice surveyed the large hairy man asleep in the aisle seat. Thank God they were separated by an empty seat between them. Two hours out of San Francisco he had mercifully given up flirting with her and asked the flight attendant for a pillow and blanket. Patrice did the same. It was after midnight.
The full moon above cast a fairyland glow over the bed of billowing white clouds floating below them. It was a glorious sight. She'd never seen anything like it. A shiver of excitement raced up her spine. Fuck sleep! She was headed to New York! New York City! "The Big Apple"! And, Luke! The man of her dreams. The object of her fantasies was waiting there. Waiting to sweep her off her feet.
No more phone sex. No more tantalizing sexting. Finally she would cast her eyes on that perfectly sculpted face, gaze deep into those intense brown eyes, run her hands over that stripped bare, rock hard body. And ride that massive cock til she popped with pleasure. Fuck! She could already feel a puddle in her panties.
Ever since they'd met on-line, several months ago, she'd been longing for this. Not really believing it would happen. Until now, she'd never been past Nevada, much less to the East Coast. Then Luke had discovered her. With thousands of models to choose from, all over the country, he had chosen her. As time went on, and their relationship developed, he demanded that he meet her. That was his way. He would be her master. She would be his slave.
Luke offered her the chance to show her modeling portfolio to the best agencies in the world's fashion mecca. It was an opportunity she had looked forward to all of her 19 years. Now she was on her way, and Luke would show her the ropes. So to speak.
Peering out at the bed of wind blown clouds below, she imagined the shape of a couple wrapped in a tight embrace, undulating, shifting bodies, fucking. She pulled her phone from her purse and found the photos of Luke on Instagram. He was a young god. He posed naked, in silhouette, his face hidden in shadow, his cock erect. She knew he had been thinking of her when he took that picture. Only her. She shook her head to clear it. She'd been obsessing over Luke for way too long.
In spite of her excitement she knew she had better get some rest. So, she pulled the blanket up to cover herself and nestled her head against the pillow, propped against the window. She lay there with her eyes closed... sleep... must sleep... sleep... hopeless... sleep... tick, tick, tick. Time crawled by. One eye popped open, then the other. She squirmed in her seat. She sat up and peeked over the back of her seat. Not a flight attendant in sight. Not even a reading light to be seen! Everyone in the entire fucking plane was asleep but her! Shit!
She slumped back in her seat. She wished she could just light up a blunt. Or pop a couple of sleeping pills. That would do the trick. Then a naughty thought popped into her head. Something she did at home, that always seemed to work, when she couldn't get to sleep. A wicked little smile came to her lips. This would be fun. She glanced over at her seat partner, just to make sure. His snorts told her that he was still sound asleep.
With the blanket safely covering her she reached down and lightly ran her fingers up and down her bare thighs beneath her short skirt. The feeling thrilled her. She spread her legs slightly, her fingers moving ever closer to the delicate flesh where the thin cloth of her thong panties barely covered her mons. Moving her hands slowly, her fingers barely touching her skin, tickling, so close to her quickly responding pussy lips. She felt her nipples beginning to press against the silken fabric of her bra.
Careful not to disturb her seatmate, or let her blanket fall, she slowly untied the loose knot that held the front of her short sleeve crop top closed. Her ample breasts spilled over her white lace bra. She had worn this top just for Luke. She knew it made him hard seeing her in it. Gently she kneaded her tits beneath the bra, imagining the hot breath and rough hands of her lover. She brushed her hands over her nipples, tweeked them a bit with her finger tips. She shivered. God, she was horny. Knowing she shouldn't, she lifted her bra and her firm young tits fell free.
Patrice was breathing hard now, her heart thumping. Her excitement was intoxicating. The fucking bra was so uncomfortable. She reached back and undid the clasp, shrugged off the straps, and slipped it out from beneath her blouse, stuffing it into her purse.
