I want to moan so badly right now. My Lady's long, dexterous fingers are deep inside my slick pussy, swirling around and around on my clit with the skill of a safecracker, and the pleasure is so intense that every single muscle in my body has gone rigid. One of my legs is pressing hard against hers, the other is squeezed up against the cool metal wall so hard I'm amazed I haven't caused a leak in the side of the plane. I'm trembling all over, my breath comes in tiny little gasps, and every few seconds my vision blurs out into a sea of sparkles as my eyes unfocus in mindless bliss. Moan, hell. I want to scream like a goddamn porn star right now.
But I can't.
We talked about it, back when we were first negotiating the scene. Back when the plane was still on the ground and we were still at home and this was just a sexy way to pass the time during a seven-hour flight from New York to London. "This isn't just a case of embarrassment, DeShaundra," she said, her English accent making every word sound like it was coming from a strict, sexy nanny. "It's not like that time at Macy's where we could say you thought you saw a mouse." Despite myself, my cunt clenched hard around her fingers, recalling the waves of heat rising from my body as I tried to pretend my clit wasn't still throbbing from her touch. It throbs even harder now, both the memory of Macy's and the memory of her playing with my pussy while we talked about Macy's replaying in my head.
"If we get caught on the plane, there's the possibility that they might simply decide to turn around and head back to New York," she admonished. I think I nodded, but damn, it's hard to convince my brain to take her seriously when everything she says sounds like an invitation to misbehave. She makes punishment sound so fucking hot that even the prospect of wrecking our first vacation together and getting the FAA on our asses gets my pussy all slick and wet and messy. And it didn't help that she couldn't keep her fingers out of my cunt while we talked.
She loves playing with my pussy. That's how all this started. We were lying in bed, giggling, her pale arms wrapped around my ebony belly and her fingers teasing my pussy lips, when I said it was a shame we couldn't join the Mile High Club together. "The bathrooms on those new planes don't even fit one person, let alone two," I joked, distraction already creeping into my voice and making me sound just a tiny bit drunk with pleasure. "We'd never get away with it." I knew even then that my Lady loves a challenge. She wouldn't be able to let that go.
It's all flashing through my head out of order, my thoughts getting more and more disjointed as her fingers push in and out of my soaking cunt. The airpods only make things worse--I can hear my Lady's voice in my ears non-stop, a constant loop of her deliciously posh and proper voice telling me, "Good girls drop deeper. Good girls sink swiftly. Good girls obey." All accompanied by a chorus of moans and whimpers and pleas for more that I know are my own. She loves to record every sound I make when I'm so deeply hypnotized that I can't even remember what she's doing to me, and play them back to me once I wake up to show me just how much control she has over my mind. I wonder how long she was planning to use them like this.
It's enough to make my gasps crack into a tiny explosion of breath, not quite a moan but not entirely silent, either... and that's enough to make my Lady's fingers stop cold. She frowns ever so slightly--to a casual observer, it might look like she just hit a troublesome passage in her book on confirmation bias in 19th century medicine. She's been careful this entire time to watch me squirm without looking like she's watching me squirm. But I know what it means. It means that subby girls who want their clitty rubbed have to be quiet like they promised.
