Mile High 12

I hate airports. Glazed eyes, body odor, travel-zombies trudging about glancing at their boarding passes over and over again, the information apparently never penetrating into their brains. The food is expensive and always sub-par, the whole place smells like canned air and, mystifyingly, cigarettes, despite the smoking areas being sealed off away from the general population.

Still, I'd generally rather be sitting outside the gate wedged between a fat man spilling out of his Winnie the Pooh T-shirt and a mother trying to calm her shrieking child than be on a plane. Planes are worse. That canned-air smell makes me claustrophobic even before I get into the thing, and then I don't fit in the seats right, the person next to me keeps touching me inadvertently (or on purpose- middle-aged men are the worst offenders), and I'm also in a tube of metal that will soon fly at high altitude near 600 miles per hour. Absolutely

loathe

passenger airplanes.

Unfortunately, they're required sometimes. I'm a researcher, and every once in a while I get a chance to go somewhere different and look through some archives. That's pretty great, but I generally need to fly to these new destinations.

All in all, it's really not as bad as I pretend. This time I was on my way to California to do some work at the Huntington Library. It was winter at home in Salt Lake City, and not even the fun kind of winter with snow and beautiful sights. Just ice on windshields and horrific smog. On the other hand, Long Beach, the terminus of my flight, was at about 65 degrees, and thus much more appealing. As an added bonus, the flight was nearly empty. A red-eye, so it made sense, but even a bit more empty than normal. It was nice, though. Can't normally stretch out and occupy a lot of space on an Airbus A380, after all.

I'd brought a book. It was a little less than a two-hour flight, and I'd have to make my way to my lodgings upon arrival, so I figured sleep would be counterproductive. Raskolnikov's fevered worries of detection did away with my own of plane crashes; I settled in, sprawling across my assigned window seat and the unoccupied center one, and lost myself in Porfiry Petrovich's wordy suppositions. It was fairly cold in the plane, but I wore a nice sweater and that was practically a blanket; nestling my chin into its cozy knit collar, I tried as hard as possible to ignore the safety briefing.

"Ma'am?"

Another voice yanked me out of my book. It was one of the flight attendants, a peroxide-blonde amalgamation of plastic surgery, age, and spray tan stuffed into a uniform. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to put your seat back in the upright and locked position."

I hadn't adjusted the seat. Squirming around to look back, I saw that it was canted half an inch back. Clearly an accident waiting to happen.

"Sorry." I muttered, poking the little button in the armrest; the seat back clicked forwards, and the flight attendant gave me a little fake smile with unnaturally large pink-painted lips. "Thank you!" she said, insincerity dripping from her words like strawberry syrup off an IHOP short stack.

I went back to my book. Thankfully, she walked away, ass implants jiggling as she stalked down the aisle. I've never understood the plastic surgery thing, but I suppose I was gifted with a passable body by nature, so I've got no room to speak. I've got real tits that don't look like pancakes, and an ass that I've been told is "scrumptious", albeit by a college professor who was later fired for having sex with a student, and I'm honestly terrified of needles, so surgical enhancement isn't quite my cup of tea.

The safety briefing was over. Something whined and shook in the belly of the plane; the flight attendant who had been giving the briefing stumbled on her heels as she tried to pick up her demonstration oxygen mask from the deck. She managed to recover with the help of an armrest, and, flustered, hurried up towards the cockpit as soon as she'd collected her items. I could hear muffled laughter at that; looking around, I found its source a row behind me and across the aisle, a guy slouching in his seat wearing a beaten grey leather jacket over a Star Wars T-shirt. Kind of a dick move to laugh at another's misfortune like that, but it was something we all did, I decided.

The Airbus shook again, and we began to taxi away from the gate. I tried to shut out the odd noises that emanated from below the deck by reading, but I couldn't, distracted as I was by those noises. Looking out the window, I focused on the wingtip, telling myself that it would be all right, but then I began to think about that one Twilight Zone episode with William Shatner, and had to look away for fear of gremlins.

But at least there weren't too many people on the airplane, right?

The plane began to move forwards, faster and faster, shaking and bouncing, while all I could think of was crashes on the runway and how I didn't want to die with this smell being the last, but finally we were in the air and I could attempt to relax. Trying to control my breathing, I closed my eyes and counted slowly.

"Hey, you okay?"

My eyes snapped open. The leather jacket guy was looking at me, leaning on his armrest. Genuine concern seemed to show in his blue-green eyes; reaching up, he scratched at his forehead, right where his short blonde curls met the skin. "You don't look too good."

Yeah, I probably didn't. Injecting no small amount of sarcasm into my voice, I motioned at my body. "Well, shit, I've been told I normally look pretty good. Wonder what happened."

"I'm going to guess you got on an airplane and are not enjoying it."

I rolled my eyes. "Really, Captain Obvious?"

He took the hint and shrugged, leaning back in his seat. At the same time his hand went down to adjust his jeans, and something caught my eye.

He had to have something in his pocket. It couldn't be that. Dicks like that didn't really exist outside of porn.

I like big dicks. I fucking love big dicks. Honestly, I'm very much a size queen. I've had my share of eight inchers, once even a guy with nine, but they were very rare. I often had to settle. But when I fantasized, when I played with my clit at night, I thought of massive cocks. Abnormally huge, throbbing pillars of flesh- God, it sounds really weird, but imagine a cock so big I could hug it, wrap my arms around it, pressing my tits against the silky flesh and feel it throb.

The bulge in the guy's pants wasn't quite that big. It was still notable, though, that's for damn sure. I forgot about how he'd laughed at the flight attendant, about how dumb his "Many Moods of Darth Vader" shirt was- none of that mattered anymore. I shut

Crime and Punishment

, even forgetting to mark my spot.

How was I to get my hands on that slab of meat this guy appeared to be hiding, however poorly?

I was still looking over to him, my right elbow on the armrest. "So... you like Star Wars?" I asked, hopefully.

He looked up again. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

"The shirt."

The guy grinned, his smile lopsided. Was he just like that, or had he learned it to emulate Han Solo? Either way, it was a good look for him. "Yeah. Not the new Disney garbage, but proper Star Wars."

And now I was out of my depth. Dare I ask the difference? Sure, the new stuff was pretty terrible, but so was Episode II. Or did he mean just the original trilogy? So much to worry about. I bit the bullet. "Proper Star Wars?" I asked, crossing my arms and pushing my tits up, in the time-honored classic move, attempting to perhaps redirect his attention.

"Yeah, the Expanded Universe and all. You know, the books? They had it all written out, from a thousand years before-"

A fucking

nerd.

With a gigantic cock. A fucking Star Wars nerd. Okay, I'm a historical researcher, and I might like a bit of Tolkien, but that's just basic nerd level. This guy here? Talking about the Star Wars Expanded Universe? Shit, at least he had the dick. Nobody would ever fuck him otherwise.

Well, it looked like he had the dick, at least. Still needed to verify. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't already a bit horny at this point. Maybe a bit is an understatement.

I let him pontificate for a minute or two. What else was I to do? He was pretty passionate about the subject. My bounteous cleavage hadn't distracted him really at all. So what to do? What approach would work better? I pondered momentarily, before I realized.

He's a

guy

. Doesn't take much for them.

He finally stopped talking for half a second, and I took that chance. "Also, is that actually your dick there?" I asked, nodding towards the bulge in his jeans.

Seemed to catch him by surprise. He blinked, looked down, looked back up at me, looked back down, gaze lingering on my tits for a moment, and then again up to my face. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

His confidence was coming back a bit, now that he'd actually processed the question mentally. "Yeah, that's it."

"Really?"

He nodded once, hand going down to the bulge. Thick fingers gripping the shape in his pants, he pushed it upwards; the unmistakable shape of a huge cockhead emerged from his left pocket, covered only in the thin pocket lining. My eyes widened; I may have even licked my lips. As I watched, a small, dark patch blossomed at the center of the white fabric of the pocket lining. Precum, and the mental image alone of that cock unfettered, precum dripping down it- I pressed my thighs together tightly, feeling how wet I already was.

"Show me." I said, breathlessly.

"We're on a plane."

I looked around. "Yeah, an empty one. Pull it out."

"Someone might see..."

Like I gave a fuck. I flipped the metal paddle on my lap and let the seatbelt fall aside. "Move over."

He did; I slid into the aisle seat next to him, my thin fingers busying themselves with his jeans. It only took a second to unbutton and unzip, and I found that he wasn't a fan of underwear. All the better.

I delicately pulled open his jeans, and found myself confronted with what appeared to be the thickest cock I'd ever seen in my life. It was like a Coke can, maybe a bit bigger; only the base was visible, his fat shaft disappearing deeper into his clothing, but even that was enough. "It's beautiful..." I whispered, awestruck.

"Is it?"

I didn't bother to answer, instead reaching in to seize that monster, my thin fingers not even coming close to encircling its gigantic shaft. I pulled it out with some difficulty, letting the massive thing spring up to stand proudly out from his lap.

How do I describe the beauty that lay pulsating in my hand? It was as big as I'd hoped, curved upwards, hard as steel. The head was enormous, slightly thicker than the veiny shaft, beads of clear precum already trickling down it. I tightened my grip ever-so-slightly and he let out a moan, his cock twitching.

Perfect.

"Does anyone ever survive this thing?" I asked, trying to be sexy. It apparently didn't cut it, as he just seized a handful of my hair and yanked my face up next to his. Rough. I liked it a lot.

His lips were right next to my ear. I could feel him breathing, and I would certainly be lying if I said feeling it on my ear and neck weren't doing anything for me.

"You'll need it real fuckin' wet if you want to survive it, slut," he hissed, voice low, picking up a hint of gravel. God, that was fucking

hot

. The hand that wasn't trying vainly to wrap around his throbbing meat darted down between my thighs. Christ, I was

dripping.

"so fucking suck it."

Gladly. "Yes, sir..." I replied, appropriately submissive, as I began to get more closely acquainted with the weapon that he had in lieu of a normal dick. He tightened his grip in my hair, pulling me towards the engorged, leaking head; I tried to put my mouth over it, but it became

very

apparent that that wouldn't be happening. My lips were at their limit barely halfway down the monstrous mushroom tip. I had to satisfy myself just licking it, tasting his salty precum, and I found myself already fantasizing about feeling him shoot a massive fucking load all over my whore tits, painting me like the slut I am...

"The attendant's coming." he said, again in that low, rumbling whisper that I felt deep in my pussy. I had to, reluctantly, snap out of my cock-worshiping reverie and sit up, pretending like I hadn't been slobbering on an enormous dick a second before. He just pulled his shirt over said dick, crossing his arms over his stomach to hold his raging erection back.

The blonde attendant with the plastic tits walked by, not even a pause, not a glance. I waited for her to disappear into the back, before returning my attention to the dripping spear this guy had been hiding under his shirt. He, obviously thinking the same thing, had already pulled it back out.

I wasted no time, grabbing that beautiful monument to manhood in both hands, licking it, kissing it, just putting it on my face. God, it was gorgeous.

"You should try riding it."

I looked up, tongue stuck out comically, one eye obscured by dick. "Should I?"

"Yes, you should." He pushed me off his meat, clicking both armrests all the way back. "Get your fucking pants off."

Forceful. Just how I liked my men. I was wearing sweatpants, perfect for an airplane; they came off easy, without much struggle. My underwear, on the other hand, took a bit more effort. I was not aided by the sudden appearance of his fingers between my thighs. One second I was worrying about how to pull my leg up in the tiny space, and then I had his thumb on my clit and a finger delving into my pussy and starbursts behind my eyelids.

"

Distracting

." I managed to whisper, between gasps.

"Do I give a fuck?"

Asshole. Arrogant asshole. Arrogant, dominant, elephant-cocked asshole.

I finally managed to get my panties off despite his ministrations, and then somehow contrived to throw my right leg over him, so I was straddling him. His cock poked me in the tit, precum leaving a wet spot on my sweater.

"You're fuckin' huge, you know that?"

He grinned. "Yes, I do."

How to manage this? He was so fucking

long

. I settled on putting my feet on the seats on either side of him, maneuvering over him somehow without smashing my head into the overhead bins.

I looked around, making sure there was nobody watching. Man, this flight was so fucking

empty

. I could see maybe four other people, and they were obviously asleep. The last was absorbed in reading, probably. Or just looking down into her lap intently. Who cared?

All of those thoughts disappeared as he gripped his cock and pressed the tip up against my clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. "You ready?"

I took a second to prepare, mentally strengthening myself for what was to come. "Fuck me."

He pressed into me. My mind went blank for a second. I swear to whatever god is out there I saw stars. It was just so fucking

thick.

It's hard to describe. I felt it in my

hips

, like they were just being displaced by the gigantic meat sliding into me.

I came, my whole body clenching up. That, too, was far more pronounced than anything I'd felt before. When I tightened up on his cock I just couldn't. It was like a steel rod in my belly, always pushing outwards against me.

I came back to my body a second later. He had this smug smile on his face- I guess he was used to women doing that. "That's just the tip, girl." he said.

Fuckin' asshole.

I let myself sink down, let him slide further into me. Maybe

slide

wasn't the word, because despite all the lubrication, it didn't go easy.

Force

, perhaps? It certainly felt like he was just forcing his way in, rearranging the contents of my abdomen.

My legs were shaky. I had to brace myself on the back of his seat, falling forwards so my sweater-clad tits were on his head. "Fuck.

Fuck.

"

"Here, let me help." Big hands grabbed my hips, pulled down hard. I honestly can't remember what happened then; I just know I came to my senses a few seconds later, head spinning, his hand clamped over my mouth, and so much cock in me that it felt like it was up between my tits. I tried tightening up on it again, and just came. Just like that. I felt myself squirt all over his fat shaft.

"Shhhh. Someone will hear." he told me. I wasn't concerned with that anymore. I was concerned with the cock occupying my torso, and the fact that I could

literally feel his heartbeat in my stomach.

He obviously was, though, and kept his hand over my mouth as he began to move. Short strokes, pretty much just rocking beneath me, but he felt like he was literally fucking my brains out, like the gigantic dripping purple head of his cock would burst out of my eye socket at any moment. Cock was the only thing in my brain. Just huge, fat, throbbing cock, so fucking long and thick...

I can't tell you how many times I came. It was a lot. Just over and over and over and over again. It was exhausting, even though by this time he was doing all the work.

He paused for a second. I tried to catch my breath as much as I could. My eyes fluttered open- and made contact with those of that plastic flight attendant. She was just standing there in the back, in the little flight attendant area next to the bathrooms, and she was looking

straight

at me, a little smile on her pumped-up lips. She held eye contact for a moment, during which I was terrified that we'd get in trouble, they'd have to turn the plane around, I'd have to get cavity searched by Homeland Security- and then she winked playfully.

And then he started moving again, and I no longer cared about her, my mind erupting in ecstasy. Just cock. All I cared about.

It felt like eons. I don't know how long it was, all I know is that it was so fucking

good

. It was the best sex of my life up till that point, and that is not an exaggeration.

But finally, he began thrusting harder. "I'm gonna fucking cum." he hissed against my tits, his massive cockhead slamming into the back of my dripping cunt over and over and over again. His hand dropped from my mouth, both arms wrapping around me in a crushing grip, guiding me up and down on him like I was just some kind of jerk off toy.

"Fucking give it to me," I gasped out in between cunt-shattering thrusts. "Fucking

fill

me up with-"

He exploded. It was like a fucking fountain. I could feel his cum pouring into me like... I don't even know. Like it was being dumped out from a bucket. Just so much.

I clapped a hand to my stomach, as if to stop him from bursting out; I could actually feel the steel-hard shaft through my belly, could feel it throbbing and pulsating as he gave me his load. That did it for me- I came again, the world fading away behind bright starbursts of pleasure.

I woke up like a minute later, still impaled on his cock. He was getting slightly softer now; with a Herculean effort, I pulled myself off and collapsed into the window seat, a flood of cum pouring from my ruined cunt. His cock was still twitching, too, more cum dribbling out.

"Fuck..." I groaned, pressing my hands to my belly. It hurt a bit now, but mostly I just felt

empty

. There was a huge void where his cock had been. "Can you grab my pants?"

He obliged, handing them to me; I managed to get them on without too much of a fight. "This is my seat now, because I can't fuckin' walk." I told him, already curling up there; he shrugged, pushing his meat back into his jeans.

If anything was going to put me to sleep on a plane, it was the ordeal I had just undergone. I clicked my seatbelt over my lap, and closed my eyes, resting against the window. God, I could feel his cum soaking through my sweatpants.

Before I fully fell asleep, though, I heard the unmistakable sound of the attendant's heels, and then her saccharine voice. "Can I get you two anything? A complimentary soft drink? A wet towel?"