The Joys of Air Travel

Late in the boarding process of Flight 5608 from Phoenix to Chicago, and my husband and I were getting tense. "Come on..." he whispered under his breath, jammed into the space beside the window on my left; I, so much smaller than him, had the middle. The aisle seat on my right was still open, and with each passing boarder we crossed our fingers more tightly and hoped we'd have a whole row to ourselves.

A fat woman waddled down toward us, her pig eyes scanning the row numbers. Thank God! She creaked into a middle seat two rows ahead. A very tall man, stooping to avoid hitting the overhead lights, shuffled blessedly past, though not without a glance at my legs. And then...

...nothing. No more people clogged the aisle. I looked at my husband; he looked back with a bright smile, and just as I was unbuckling my seatbelt and preparing to slide my skinny butt over to the aisle seat, the man came aboard.

I looked instinctively up at him, sizing him up the way all women do to all men... even the married ones. He was about 5'10", built lean and strong, a pair of nicely shaped legs emerging from sensible shorts. The tight t-shirt showed no real flab around the middle, his pecs straining with a bag. His eyes were blue steel, dark and bottomless, his mouth a strong line as he glanced down to check his ticket.

A fat arm came around his shoulder, pointing at something on the ticket; soon I became aware of the man's short wife, shorter even than me, trailing him like a cranky terrier. "See?" she squealed, jabbing at the ticket, "I told you we're separate."

"It's okay." His voice, carrying through the bustle of boarding, was deep and measured, with a twinkle of amusement. "Means I won't be bothering you."

She made a dismissive noise as they came stomping down the aisle, his wife peeling off into a row well ahead. The man, though, kept coming. His eyes looked at the row numbers, then the seat letters, then at my very own brown eyes, set in my freckled face above a pointy little nose. He smiled, and it seemed like his entire face lit up; I could see now that he spent a lot of time in the sun, the skin damaged and brittle. A runner.

"Looks like that's my seat," he told me, the amused note still there. "Sorry about that; guess it's your unlucky day. We just barely made our connection from Dallas."

Beside me my husband sighed in disappointment, but I was surprised to find I didn't mind. Those blue eyes were flickering along my tiny body now, taking in the cutoff sweatpants I wore to fly, the white tanktop, the goosebumps standing out on my exposed shoulders. He lingered at my breasts, I was proud to see, and why wouldn't he? They were tempting and firm, perfectly proportioned ever since puberty, and I worked hard to keep the rest of myself in shape. I preened just a little bit for him, and smiled back. "Or your unlucky day," I said. "Take a seat."

My husband just gazed out the window at the techs, scurrying around loading fuel and bags. He knew now that he'd be crammed into the narrow seat, his overweight bulk stuck there, and he sighed again as he reached down for a sleeping pill. On the other side of me, my new seatmate watched with interest; as he looked across at my husband, though, I realized he was really just checking me out, his eyes raking across my boobs. "'Scuse me," he said softly, reaching down to find his seatbelt where it had flopped over onto my seat. As he did so, his searching fingers grazed my ass. He gave no sign that he'd meant it, but my mind told me it hadn't been an accident.

It had been many, many years since I'd been actively flirted with, but I am a pretty girl and you get to know the signs after awhile. And I had never, ever minded returning the flirt. So now I looked straight into his rugged blue eyes. "I don't think you got the whole seatbelt out," I said, my voice low so that he had to lean toward me.

He smiled again, that radiant grin, and did not lean back away from me. "Well, let's just make sure I do a thorough job," he replied, arching an eyebrow as he shot his hand straight down along my hip, trailing his hand along the ratty sweatpants as he curved his fingers around, now more gently, to cup my ass. I helped him a bit by raising up in my seat, my eyes still looking straight into his. He squeezed my right cheek once, twice, and then slowly dragged his fingers back along my body. "Nope. Looks like I got it all."

"Great," I said evenly, going back to my book; it was a long flight, and nothing said I had to do all my flirting before we even pushed back from the gate. Beside me, my new friend looked thoughtfully at me for a few more seconds, then he bent down to dig out a laptop.

* * *

We were at 35,000 feet over New Mexico, just twenty minutes off the ground, when I made my next move. This would be great fun, I told myself, and consequence-free: this dude and I would never see each other again, and there was certainly no danger of us fucking here on the plane. Things like that didn't happen in real life. But my husband snored next to me, and I was bored. So I swiveled my head, looking boldly at the side of the man's face. He was busy on his laptop, but glanced at me anyway. "Excuse me," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt, "but I have to pee."

I'd have expected him to get up, stand in the aisle to let me by; my plan had been to brush past him as I got up, maybe stretching my body for him. But no; he just sat there expectantly, and I realized he wanted me to press past his knees to escape. I paused: what should I show off as I wormed past him? Front or back? Tits or ass?

One as I left, the other as I returned.

So I got to my feet, hunching over far more than I needed to to avoid hitting my head on the call button, and put my right hand on the back of my new friend's seat. He looked up at me with a cool smile, the laptop forgotten. Keeping my hand where it was, I swung my leg over his and latched my left hand onto the other side of his seat back.

I was bent over now, right in front of him, my arms spread along the sides of his head, my tanktop pulling free of my boobs while my short legs straddled his. There was no reason to pause now, but I did anyway, letting him get a mental snapshot of the image of my body on top of his; I put a sultry expression on my face, then finally swung out into the aisle and patted him on the shoulder as I headed toward the restroom.

Of course I didn't need to pee; no woman willingly pees in an airplane just twenty minutes in. I killed some time in the rear galley, exchanging a smile and a few words with one of the cuter flight attendants; she glanced appreciatively down at my legs. I made small talk, dropped a couple of bags of peanuts into my cleavage, and then sauntered back down toward my seat. As I got to my row, I gave myself a wedgie.

Now it was my ass' turn. I stood over the man in the aisle seat. I looked down at his strong legs and then dragged my eyes up to his face. "Excuse me," I said softly, sliding my left leg in front of his knees. I bent down to keep from bumping my head, my little ass thrusting back into his face. He'd be staring at it, wondering what I had on underneath, trying to figure out where my underwear ran. He'd be wanting to reach up and grab me, the wedgie letting him know precisely what I looked like naked.

Reluctantly, I brought my right leg across the man's front, dragging it across his hairy knees. It was the first time our skin had touched, and I let it linger. I turned back to look at him, smiling apologetically, and caught his eyes lingering on my butt. I landed in my seat, my husband slumped over from my left; to avoid him, I crowded my new friend's armrest. "I'm sorry about him," I said. "Once he crashes, it's impossible to move him."

"I don't mind." Watching my eyes, the man snaked his arm underneath mine on the armrest, his forearm pressing now against my ribcage while my arm rested on top of his. "Seats are so small these days; you just have to be flexible." His fingers, draped casually across the armrest, trailed down to within an inch of my bare right thigh. I looked at the fingers, letting him see where my attention was, then I looked back at his face. I pulled his arm toward me, then slowly moved up until my lips were right beside his ear.

"I stole some peanuts in the galley," I whispered, making sure my hot breath blew past his cheek. "Want some?"

"Why not?" he replied, and I fixed him with a naughty stare as I reached my left hand into my cleavage. I made sure to let him see what I was doing in there, burrowing around between my boobs, the peanut packages crinkling as I pulled them out. I dropped one in his lap, and he calmly picked it up. "Hmm. Warm." He smiled, and with no shame he looked down my tanktop. "That's a good place to store things."

"Only some things," I replied with a smirk.

"Like nuts."

I laughed hard at the double entendre. "Only some nuts." We sat there and grinned at each other for a moment, our arms intertwined on the armrest. He moved his left leg until it rubbed against my right, and he leaned forward to look over at my husband. "He'll be wiped out until we land," I said scornfully. "It's why I'm talking to you instead of him."

"Ah. And here I thought it was just my shining personality." His eyes roamed my body.

"No," I shot back, "but I do like your eyes."

"They like you too," he said honestly. I smiled, then the sultry expression returned to my face as I arched my back slightly.

"What do they like the most?" I was back to whispering now, mostly so that I could stay close to him. He was driving my body crazy, and I had no idea now where all this was going. My finger unconsciously stroked his arm on the rest.

His eyes narrowed, his leg pressing hot against mine. "I'll be honest," he said at last, "they liked it when you came back from the bathroom."

"Ooh! You're an ass man." We both knew how deliberately I'd shown off. "Did you want to reach up and spank it?"

"Spank it, squeeze it, play with it; you name it. I'd have buried my face in it, if I didn't think you'd have reached back and slapped me." He was quiet now, cards on the table, watching me closely. "It's a really great ass," he added helpfully.

"Thank you," I said automatically. I was thinking carefully, wondering how far I wanted to go with this man. A fling in an airplane bathroom while my worthless husband napped was not something I'd seriously consider, but I was sure I could at least get a kiss or two; maybe more. I wondered whether he had an erection, and borrowed a page from his book by looking straight at it. It was difficult to tell in his shorts.

"What?" He saw where my eyes were aiming. "Something you want to ask me?"

Aw, hell. In for a penny... "I'm wondering whether I'm making your penis hard." I bit my lip, looking intently into his eyes. My fingers still danced across his arm, and now his fingers moved that extra inch and began stroking my leg. There was a thick silence then as he thought about something witty to say, but I beat him to it. "Oh, and the answer is no. I wouldn't have reached back and slapped you." I watched my words sink in, his eyes narrowing as he glanced inadvertently down to my ass. "This ass likes attention."

"Well, it's certainly got mine," he mused. "I kinda like the rest of you too, if I'm being honest." I arched my back further, looking speculatively across his body. Out of the corner of my eye I caught the look of a woman across the aisle, who had watched me take my seat with my husband and was now watching me display myself to another man. Her eyes were heavy with disapproval; I felt like hitting her.

I smiled, my hand now dropping frankly down to his left thigh. I squeezed the stringy muscles there. "I'm glad you sat here," I murmured, "but you still haven't answered my question." The hem of his shorts was alongside my right pinkie, and I now let a couple of fingers trail a little bit of the way up his shorts. His hairs there were like wire. I glanced back and forth between his crotch and the woman across the aisle. "How hard am I making you?"

He swallowed, no longer smiling in amusement. This had gotten serious at some point. His eyes drifted down to linger on my breasts. "About as hard as I'm making you." He was right, of course; I could feel my nipples doing their best to burst completely through my bra and out the other side of the tanktop. They ached. Greatly daring, he brought his right arm across and lightly grazed my nipple. I couldn't hold back a gasp. "Yup. About that hard."

On impulse, my left arm shot up to press the call button. An urgent light in his eyes, my new friend disentangled our arms and folded the armrest up between the seats. He got this done just as the cute flight attendant arrived. "What can I do for you, honey?"

"I think I could use a blanket." My voice had gone husky, and I know the attendant heard it. She flickered her gaze between the man and I, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Why, sure honey." She looked fixedly at the man's lap. "And you, sir? Want a blanket?"

"Um, no. I think one will be plenty."

She shook her head. "No, I'll bring two. You guys might want to spread out a little." She winked, then stretched her arms high to get at the overhead bins; I watched as the man took a quick glance at her pert breasts. She noticed, but didn't mind. This was turning into a great flight for him. She brought down two thin blue blankets. "You guys just let me know if you, uh, need any more help," she said with another wink as she moved off.

The man and I wasted no time, spreading our blankets across our laps and sharing an excited glance. His leg continued to press against mine, and I raised my own leg to flop across his. My heel hooked into the inside of his calf and I pulled him toward me, spreading both of us wide. I pulled my blanket up over my flaring nipples; he brought his up to his neck, and then we just stared at each other, breathing hard, daring each other to go further. Across the aisle, the lady was watching in disgust. I caught her eye and mouthed "fuck off."

The way my legs were spread had pulled my sweatshorts tight against my pussy, and his strong left hand clamped against me without shame. Meanwhile, I awkwardly tried to get his dick out with just one hand; between a belt, the zipper, and the button, it was difficult, especially with the pressure his erection was causing from inside. I gritted my teeth as my fingers explored, eager to get at his penis; he didn't seem interested in helping me, though, his own hand already completely preoccupied with me, his long, quick fingers wedging themselves into my cutoffs and making quick work of my soggy thong.

I couldn't believe how horny I was so suddenly, how willingly I took this stranger's fingers into my vagina. He looked at me, confident and focused, worming into my labia and gently stroking my inner lips. In desperation I turned completely toward him, bringing my other hand underneath his blanket to work at opening his shorts. Finally he got the message, hiking himself up in the narrow airplane seat and using his right hand to shove down shorts, belt, and underwear in a sweaty pile at his knees. I could not suppress a hiss of triumph as my questing hands found his cock, strong and hard, short but thick, precum glazing his glans as my thumb spread it around. I let my hands trace down his straining shaft, past his bristly pubes to tickle his inner thighs on my way to cradle his swollen balls, earthy and sticky with sweat even as I was.

My leg tightened across his, the two of us concentrating on each other's reactions, our hands playing with each other's bodies. I glided my hand slowly up and down the length of his dick, him firm and hot within my hand, his mouth with an almost cruel twist to it as he ran his fingers rhythmically into and out of me. Very quickly I began to hear the brothy squishing noise of my well-slicked vagina. His fingers were skilled and efficient, especially once I batted his hand away so that I could shimmy my shorts and underwear down my legs. With free access now, the man really got going, his soft fingertips seeking my g-spot while his thumb expertly plucked at my clit.

I was getting frustrated, though. As magically as his fingers were working my vagina, I was having little luck giving him a handjob. The angle was awkward, the blanket kept getting in the way, and I couldn't really bring my other hand into play like I usually did when jacking a man. He clearly appreciated my efforts, but I could tell I was feeling better than he was, which made me feel guilty. Behind him the cute flight attendant was watching us from the aisle, her eyes glittering, and I abruptly came to a decision.

My abs straining, I bent over to throw my head underneath his blanket. I felt his hand and arm adjust to my new body position; I was twisted painfully, my left leg now perched up on my seat, the toes prodding my sleeping husband as the man's fingers insistently got me off. The smell under his blanket was strong, furry, an animal smell like a rodent burrow. Before me in the dim, blue-filtered light stood my new friend's penis, reaching upward from his pubic hair, tenting the blanket. I grasped his thigh now, clutching at him as I licked my lips and took his dick into my mouth.

I'd never done anything even remotely like this; the man was an absolute stranger, met by chance just half an hour ago, and yet here I was giving him a passionate and fervent blowjob. His penis tasted like the sweat of a long morning of air travel, but I didn't care; by this time his clever fingers were making my body sing, and all I wanted was to give him back that same kind of pleasure. I was liberal with my spit, bathing his cock as my tongue smothered the veiny sides of his shaft. He was bucking now, pushing up into my throat, but I gave back just as good as I got, tensing my neck and driving my mouth over his glans.

I'd always been good at giving head, and now I brought my hands into play, my breasts wedged against his leg; his dick was too short for me to jack it at the same time I was sucking, but I made up for it by teasing his balls, my fingers spreading my own saliva across his nutsack. He was making noises now, very occasional grunts and groans; from the other side of the blanket I heard the grin in the cute flight attendant's voice as she leaned down. "Are you doing all right, sir?"

"Oh yeah." He certainly was, his dick twitching in my mouth, his balls tightening in my hand. Down below he was playing my body like a violin, the endless driving rhythm of his fingers on my clit making me squirm and buck, my foot digging into my oblivious husband's leg. I was ecstatic, lost with this man in a sexual thrill, the need to please and be pleased dominating everything else. Between the greedy slurping noises my mouth was making and the juicy gurgle of his fingers inside me, I wouldn't have been surprised if the entire plane knew what was going on.

Not that I cared right then.

We were probably somewhere over Oklahoma when, with shocking suddenness, I came on the man's fingers. I'd cum before, scores of times, the normal life of a sexually healthy young lady; before getting married, I'd been quite a slut. Still, there was a pulsing urgency to this particular orgasm that set it apart, a driving red passion that made my thighs clamp firmly down around the man's hand. His fingers continued to play with me, my pelvis twitching around them as I felt the slick lubricant wash down the insides of my thighs.

I gasped around his cock as I redoubled my efforts, fighting for his cum, my fingers now massaging his sticky perineum. It wouldn't be long now, and I began to wonder what his semen would taste like. I'd swallow it all, of that there could be no question; as a former sorority member, I had my pride. I felt his right hand resting on the back of my head with a restrained urgency, his fingers twining in my hair as he held me down to take his cum. He bucked once more, twice... and then his scrotum gave a jump and he blasted his milky, starchy seed into my mouth. I felt my cheeks blow out like a hamster's, then gained control as I forced the thick fluid down my throat. As always, I felt it going all the way down, like a piston driving down my esophagus.