Mile High Club - B-25

Being a bit of a slut, I decided to write about my former lovers in no particular order. This story is about the North American Aviation B-25 Billy Mitchel. Oh, and fist-fucking. We were in our early 30s, the airplane was fifteen years older than that. It was written as an entry in a 1000 word short story contest.

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"Veni, vidi, vici," I came, I saw, I conquered. Pontus, forest fires, we do what we can. Now it was time to go home. In difference to our heavy fuel load, extra passengers and all of our gear being on board and a relatively short runway, George was easing the two Pratt & Whitney 2600s to takeoff power while holding the brakes at the extreme end of a displaced threshold. With 30 degrees of flaps, 2100 RPM and 25 inches he released the brakes and we thundered down the asphalt. At 120 mph rose into the air. We were flying in a genuine movie star, one of the 30 or so North American B-25 bombers who starred in the 1970 motion picture Catch 22.

Like most of the Billy Mitchells in Mike Nichols' film, our ship had been discharged from active service and become a gainfully employed civilian. Converted into a water bomber to fight wildfires, a one thousand gallon tank was installed in the original bombay with two smaller tanks fore and aft. When full, we held over six tons of water. We weren't quite at maximum takeoff. The water tanks were empty. Only the wing tanks were full, and a couple thousand pounds of military equipment the aircraft was built with had been stripped out - unneeded in its civilian role.

To get from our seats in the small cabin located where the waist gunner and radio operator once resided you pull yourself, feet first by an overhead handrail, along a polished stainless steel slide across the top of the bomb bay into the former navigators compartment - now mostly occupied by firefighting equipment. Choices abound, on the floor is a door with a ladder that you can exit the aircraft from when on the ground, you can step up into the cockpit or take a similar but shorter slide under the pilot to reach the former bombardier compartment. Yossarian's crew station.

I like to think that the late Joseph Heller would have appreciated what we do with "his space." The armor plating and bomb aiming equipment were removed by the Airforce, and the transit seat and other superfluous equipment by previous operators. So, after climbing over the water tank Kristin and I disrobed in the equipment room. Before proceeding to the nose, I stepped up and said "hi" to George and Eva who suddenly seemed very overdressed in their British style cargo shorts and short sleeve uniform shirts. George nodded his permission for Eva to join us.

Kristin pushed the rolled comforters down the slide in front of her and then slid feet first into the nose. I followed. It was a cramped space for our intended use. But what a view! Only four of the 23 plexiglas window panes in the greenhouse had been replaced with aluminum, and it offered the most beautiful panorama of sky and ground to the front. Kristin had unrolled the comforter and she laid it on the aluminum floor. Having disrobed, Eva arrived a minute or two later. We were number two in a trail formation behind Lillian, Jamie and Paul in the lead ship.

As I laid down with, and began to make love with George and Paul's wives, I thought it was a shame that the tail gunner positions had been deconstructed and faired over. That would have been a fun place to watch our playtime in the nose. They were both concentrating on me, kissing me above and below, fingering my slot, teasing my vaginal opening that was soon leaking a thick lubricant as more blood rushed to my genitals. They played a very brief round of rock-paper-scissors that Kristin won and she scooped a bit of Eva's lube as well as her own before slipping two fingers in my vagina.

Kristen worked those two fingers expertly inside of me making me leak even more as my breath quickened before she added a third finger and I came for the first time. Eva took a finger and worked it inside of Kristin before Kristin moved to straddle my face and drip pussy juice on my nose when I wasn't actively lapping it from her folds. Then Eva pushed two of her fingers into me. Relaxed by my orgasm, I accepted three and then four of her delicate fingers quite quickly. She was biting and licking my buttocks as she pummeled my cunt eventually slipping her thumb inside of me. I was getting fist-fucked.

Eva pushed her hand hard and deep into my vagina and she opened it periodically to make a fist. When she did so she pushed hard compressing all of my tingly bits, and then she pulled back hard stretching them out. Then she would make a ducks head and quickly work her hand in and out churning up a savory and fragrant froth while driving me insane with lust. The entire time she was fist fuckig me she was alternately kissing my mound and hood and licking my clitoral head and slot while playing with the six short but thick stainless steel barbells situated in my labia major and the smaller thinner one that graced my hood.

Kristin would have to give me a spanking later, I was doing a piss-poor job of eating her. I was so distracted what with her rolling her fingertips and slightly tugging, playing with the vertical and horizontal studs in my nipples and Eva sending me to orgasm after blessed orgasm pumping her fist hard into me and getting it to move as my vagina slowly expanded to accommodate its girth. Each push compressed, each pull stretched as the time interval decreased and the speed increased and I was crying with joy and screaming and coming and coming and coming.

Finally, when I was spent, they stopped. I regained my composure, and made my way under the flight deck to the equipment room and the cockpit. There, I took the right seat so George could go renew his membership in the mile-high-club.