Flying High.

by sextails

It wasn’t my first flight; I’d been a keen traveller since a kid. Being from a typically middle class family, that is a family that was obsessed with appearance, opinion and gossip, we had to be seen to be ‘keeping up with the Jones’ or so to speak, so of course; we travelled.

America, The Caribbean, Asia, Africa, most of Europe, I’d been around so airports weren’t something knew, neither were the flights themselves. We’d had some turbulence coming back from a short flight from Scotland and dropped a fair few feet out the sky, so it wasn’t the journey itself. No what made this flight so, interesting, was the ‘in-flight entertainment. ‘

I was sat in one of the many unnameable cafés in the airport lounge drinking a skinny latte, sipping a bottle of water and attempting to read at least the first chapter of my holiday novel, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, which I was recommended. Let me tell you, it may be a classic, but it certainly isn’t an easy read.

Still ploughing through the pages with avid persistence, I sat bent over my book with my glasses on, looking what I hoped was intelligent and cultured when someone interrupted me, excuse me, may I? The voice was deep, gruff, somewhat harsh and unforgiving sounding.

I looked up expecting a forty year old businessman with a bad attitude, and was surprised to find a thirty something year old with chinos and a polo shirt and a little too much cologne.

“Um, yes of course” I rushed, giving him the once over. He’d a paper tucked under his arm, and a coffee to go in his hand. Why take a seat if you’ve got it to go? I didn’t ask, luckily for once managing to keep my thoughts to myself, and turning back to my novel.

I turned the page and became distinctly aware that I was being stared at, quite intensely, I glanced up to see said man, sat legs crossed, leaning back in his chair, holding his coffee, openly staring at me. I smiled and looked back to my page, trying desperately to find my place again and not show my flustered state. I glanced across the page to make it look as though I was reading. I realised he was staring straight down my top. My shirt was open just enough to show the top of my cleavage and bent over, I’m pretty sure he had a ‘bird’s eye view’. I leant forward further and felt the chain of my necklace, seeing him shift in his seat – Got you.

I sat up and back looking at him. He raised his eyebrows as to enquire whether I would speak or not when a girl walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheeky. He turned to her smiling, standing up and slipping an arm around her waist, walking off. ‘Typical man’ I thought to myself, staring after the couple. I was so bemused that I barely heard my flight being called. I picked my bag, straightened my skirt, hitched up my bra (for good effect) and drank the last dregs of my coffee before turning and leaving for ‘Gate 2’.

To my distress and amusement, Mr Polo shirt and girlfriend decided to join the queue, a few people behind me. On the plane, I found my seat and began loading into the overhead locker when they walked past, her first him following.  I tried to tuck in as much as possible, as he said excuse me, and brushed the palm of his hand across my bum. I gasped slightly louder than I’d hoped from the shock and enjoyment, and turned to look after him.

Having heard my intake of breath, he’d stopped and turned, ‘Do you want a hand with that?’ He said, taking the case and shoving it in the overhead locker forcefully, his arm muscles tensing and tightening the sleeves of his polo. I muttered a ‘thanks’ as he disappeared a few rows behind and sat down, stroking his girlfriends arm. ‘I must have imagined it’ I said to myself.

The flight took off easily and I tried to read again, glancing behind occasionally to see him. He sat gazing out of the window mostly with his head phones in. Typical, I though, Bet they’re too loud as well, sat ignoring his girlfriend muttering onto him. I read the inflight magazine, bought some peanuts and water and made my way to the bathroom at the back of the plane, wobbling down the aisle in my heels.

I went to the loo and checked my face in the mirror, my make-up looked reasonably fresh, my hair a nightmare. I took it down to redo my ‘updo’, when there was a knock at the door, I called engaged sorry and started repining my hair when the knocking persisted. I opened the door a jar and in pushed my polo and locked the door.

“Excuse…” I started to protest when he shoved his finger to lips and said, “Shh”. He pushed me back against the sink, pushing his body against mine in the confined space. I was completely dumbfounded unsure what to say, or do. He stared deep into my eyes, with the same half amused expression dancing over his face, as he moved his hands to my buttons and started undoing my shirt.

“What the hell…” I began as he leant harder against me and I could feel his erection against my thigh. “I don’t…” I began again, when he continued, smiling more, un-tucking my shirt and revealing my black lace bra beneath. He held my shirt open, staring at my lingerie approvingly, before moving his hands gently over my breasts, caressing them softly. I was stunned, my pussy pulsing, breathing hard with anticipation. I didn’t know whether to stop him or not, my body was writhing under his touch, prickling with desire. He slipped his arms around my waist, so close to my face staring deep into my eyes, I could feel his breath on me, and he unzipped my skirt, letting it drop to the floor, sliding his hand down my stomach towards my thigh, and then back up, and up, and up.

I gasped out loud, gripping the sink, before trying to come to my sense, “Just… Wait…You’ve got a…”

He finally spoke, “Tell me you want me to stop”, he said once again in his gruff tones. He brushed my neck with his lips and let his fingers glide up to my crotch, feeling my folds through my underwear and my knickers moisten. He nibbled my neck hungrily and I leant back on the sink, my hands pressed hard against the wall beside me.  I wanted to tell him to get off, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything, my legs shook, my cunt throbbing for him.

Suddenly he ripped my knickers in two, and pulled them off, making me start. I stared at them on the floor, in disbelief. He stood back, undoing his trousers and pulled out his hard cock. I protested once more, feebly, “I don’t think we…” He smiled, grabbing my hand and placing it on his penis. I felt how hard he was, took his shaft in my hand, and began to stroke it gently, as he watched me constantly. “You don’t want to, but you’re going to” he said, as I felt him further, tickling his balls, rubbing him harder. It was true, I didn’t want him, I didn’t want this, it wasn’t me. This isn’t what I did, yet I could feel myself getting wetter; feel the cum running down my thigh. I tried to push the image of his girlfriend to the back of my mind, when he slipped a finger under my knickers and delved into my pussy, tickling my clit with his other fingers. I soon forgot all about the girlfriend.

Then he grabbed my arse, pulled me forwards on the counter, and pushed my legs apart, resting one on the toilet, as he pushed his cock up against my dripping pussy, up and down my clit, to my arse, and back, teasing me. I stared at him, I couldn’t breathe, Couldn’t speak; the trolley was rattling outside the door, the flight attendant chatting. I daren’t make a sound.

He thrust into me unrelentingly hard. All the way to the hilt, I cried out biting the back of my hand in shock, feeling him fill me entirely. I grabbed his shoulders pulling him closer to me, he pulled out slowly and thrust in again hard, rhythmically, hard and slow, feeling my pussy tighten, digging his finger nails into my waist and arse, I  kept biting my hand, resting my head backwards, trying not to scream.

Suddenly he’d had enough of go slow, he lifted up his polo, and thrust into me hard, fast, pounding my pussy, making the sink top shake. I put my leg up over his shoulder and on the opposite wall, my court shoes rattling against the wall.  He leaned in closer, and I bit his shoulders hard, clawed his muscly back under his shirt.

He shagged my relentlessly, twisting my nipples as I began to cum, hard, cum running down his balls, as he throbbed inside me, shooting deep into my cunt, panting together. I flopped back against the mirror once again, wiping the sweat from my brow and looking up at him. His head was bowed, his chest heaving. He looked up, smiling his quirky half smile, and slowly pulled out of me. He pulled up his trousers, pulled down his shirt, glanced in the mirror running his hands through his hair before, raising his eye brows at me and unlocking the door.

I sat back staring at the door, my knickers ripped in two on the floor, my arse covered in my cum and his spunk dripping out of my cunt. Suddenly I came to my senses locking the door and turning back around to the mirror.  I stared at my make-up, run and sweaty, my hair definitely needed fixing, my clothes straightening. I sorted myself out, re-pinned my hair, and dressed myself, completely unsure of what just happened. I wiped the cum from my legs and tried to pull myself together.

I wandered back down the aisle towards my seat, pausing to let the trolley past again, smiling at the attendant. As I passed him, sat once again looking out of the window,  he glanced at me, winked straight faced, and stared once again out of the window, his girlfriend snuggled into the crook of his arm.

I sat down, flushed, glugged from my water bottle and grabbed the inflight magazine again. I didn’t know what to do, I flicked through magazines restlessly. I was half mortified, half excited. I felt cheapened, by shirt creased, my knickers in the bin by the trolley bay, but at the same time, it was a long flight, nine or so hours, and I knew I’d get up for bathroom again, and I felt my pussy throb once more.