[A/N: This is a sequel in spirit to one of my other stories, Two Views to a Bus Ride]
The panels on the luggage compartments rattled and the seatbelt sign lit up. I loved turbulence, and I loved these small turboprops that get thrown around like a child's toy. My heart stopped as the plane sank rapidly, but not because I was afraid.
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The lights flickered and she fell right into my lap.
"There's too much turbulence, I can't get back to my seat. You'll have to hold on!" she said with more enthusiasm than a stewardess should in this position. She pulled my arms around her waist and settled into my lap. Was this actually protocol?
It didn't matter -- the plane was lurching in all directions and I was starting to get nervous. I was more nervous for my wife Sarah. The slightest bump made her airsick. Any of my own nerves were calmed by the gorgeous woman who had fallen into my lap.
She ran her hands over mine, as if she were frightened as well. I started enjoying the feeling of her fingers, her soft caresses a thank you for keeping her safe. I felt a pang of guilt. I should have been comforting my wife, but I was holding this stewardess tight instead. It was a chivalry thing -- I was enjoying keeping such a beauty safe in my arms. Perhaps "getting off on" was a more appropriate term than "enjoying." The feeling of holding her, her fingers reciprocating my touch, her rear in that tight skirt, pressing right into me. Then, that familiar tingling down there. I felt myself grow just a little.
Control yourself! This is a delicate situation. But every bump pushed her right against my crotch. When the plane would take a quick dive, inertia kept her hands in place so that they would position themselves over her chest. Of course, her hands dragged mine along, thrusting the bottoms of her breasts into my palms.
I hoped she didn't notice that I was cupping her tits, even though it was her own damned fault. I also hoped she didn't notice that I was getting harder with every bounce of the plane. Name the '97 Marlins, the elements of the periodic table, anything! No good. I bit my lip and hoped the bastard would obey, but when has that ever happened in any guy's life?
It only got worse. The stewardess bounced harder along with the plane, practically grinding against me now. Her hands went ever higher so that I was nearly full-on groping her with every spike of turbulence, but she kept my hands firmly in her grip. She must feel it, I thought, she's nearly forcing my hands into her chest.
The plane rattled again, giving me another handful of her through her navy jacket and white blouse. Her ass slid up and down my semi-erect member too gracefully, coaxing it to expand further up the length of her rear.
I looked over at Sarah. She stared back with a look on her face that was half exasperation and half imminent airsickness. I turned my head away like a dog that knew it was about to be punished. There was nothing I could do now -- I was nearly fully erect and still going. Well, there was one thing, which was pray that the stewardess was frightened enough to be oblivious or very forgiving. A sexual harassment suit was not the way to kick off our honeymoon.
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God, these are the flights I live for. I probably would have been fine to go back to the cabin, but no harm in being extra safe, right? Safety first, especially when safety involves sitting in the lap of the best looking guy on the plane. Once the captain made the announcement that the turbulence would not be over anytime soon, I decided to take this thing as far as it would go.
With each shake of the plane, I gave him more. Sometimes, I would grab the headrest of the seat in front of me to give me enough leverage to grind against him harder than a stripper desperate for tips. I was done with letting him brush my chest lightly; now I was crushing his palms into my breasts. My nipples started to poke out. Once, I flicked his thumbs against them, then I curled his fingers so they enclosed my flesh, letting his hands rest there for far too long. I let out a titter of fake embarrassment and pushed his hands back down to my waist.
I felt pressure building against my ass little by little with each stroke until I was sitting on a thick steel rod that ran up to my lower back. I wish I could have watched him trying to hold back -- it must have looked so cute. Poor guy probably thought that I would slap him, or that the girl next to him who looked like his fiancée would.
A few weeks ago, I impressed myself by giving some old-timer a raging hard-on. However, feeling the arousal of this dark-haired knockout against me was far more satisfying. I had only tried this a few times before and this was the first I managed to bag a guy I would have dropped my skirt for at first sight. In fact, I had only gotten the idea from my sister the last time I saw her. She let me in on a little secret about her sex life, how she started to get into teasing guys on her bus ride home. The stories she told were incredibly hot. Well, we both always did have a little bit of an exhibitionist streak in us.
And here I was, trying to recreate one of her stories, a real life fantasy. I had to keep going, so I ever so slightly hiked up my skirt every time I bounced in the guy's lap. Before long, I could feel the bare skin of my thighs against his pants. He was squirming around in his seat now and I felt the pressure getting even greater. It was impressive he could get any harder. But it was delicious. I needed to see his face.
There was a slight break in the turbulence, which allowed me to stand up. The seat belt light was still on so I knew there was more to come. I flicked the outer armrest up and said: "Thank you for being so cooperative, sir."
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