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It always happens. My editor sends me on assignment often enough, but the cheapskate picks these “Sleep Deprivation Specials”; the flights where you either go around 2am and arrive in the wee hours, or leave in the wee hours and arrive around dinnertime. Both types of flights annoy the hell out of me, but a paycheck is a paycheck . . . I had to go yet again.
I hate planes. Snoring people resting their heads practically on your shoulders, restless babies, frantically typing business travelers with their noisy keyboards preventing you from sleeping. Never mind that you probably couldn’t get to sleep in the cramped, uncomfortable seats they put you in.
But I had nothing better to do, anyway. Not like I had a man to play with. My girlfriends all are married or otherwise attached, and hanging with them is downright depressing. My “personal massager” had been my best friend for about five months and even *it* was getting tired of me. So, I arrived at the airport, tired and horny and annoyed at the flight. Here we go, again.
I stepped into coach class, and the plane was shrouded in darkness; there was an overhead light on here and there, but not many. I wanted to sleep once in my seat, but it didn’t look like I’d be able to – the guy seated next to me had his overhead light on, and was thumbing through a magazine.
Great, I thought. This is gonna be a long night.
At least there was no one on the other side of me. Having been handed a small airplane pillow and a blanket, I was going to try to sleep. I had to. It was so late.
I managed a quick smile at my seatmate and he returned the smile, quickly, and turned his attention back to his magazine. While his head was bowed, I snuck a peek at his profile. He wasn’t Richard Gere or George Clooney, but there was something hot about him. He was about 6 feet tall (only 10 inches taller than I), and had the most incredible blue-green eyes! I guessed he was in his early 40s, judging from the short, brown hair flecked with grey. Distinguished, attractive . . . cute! He was dressed in a rumpled suit – a weary business traveler.
He caught me peeking but didn’t let on . . . or at least he thought he didn’t let on. I caught the wry smile he tried to suppress. I felt my cheeks flush and I turned my attention to fixing my blanket and positioning my microscopic pillow.
As I lay there with nothing else to do, I began to think of my traveling companion. What was he like? Was he single? Married? Straight? Gay? What does he kiss like? How does he make love? What types of things turn him on? I was making myself hot – this was not good. To be horny on a long flight next to a stranger – damn!
The seats were so close, I kept bumping feet or knees with the guy. At first, we both stammered, “Excuse me, sorry, pardon me” and other apologies. The next couple of times it happened, we smiled and chuckled at each other, as if to say, “Yup, I’m a klutz. Sorry!” After a while, it seemed like we were making contact on purpose. It definitely seemed that way.
Eventually, his lower leg pressed against mine, and lingered. When I looked up, prepared to chuckle again, I saw the blue-green Ataşehir Escort eyes. They weren’t laughing. They were . . . inviting. My heart began racing. Could he be as turned on as me? I decided to give him a quizzical look, as if I was saying, “Yes? Do you want what I think you do?”
I got my answer: he raised the armrest that separated us.
I figured this might be a good chance to be a bad girl.
I slid over next to him, and he lifted his blanket so we would both be covered. The length of our legs were now pressed together. I was close enough to hear his breathing, faster, deeper. His eyes were penetrating. His stare was unsettling. I felt uncomfortable, yet so incredibly turned on that I wanted this stranger, I decided to throw caution, as they say, to the wind.
My hand found his thigh under the blanket. And I felt his warm palm on my thigh. We barely looked at each other as we massaged each other, there under the blankets. No one was the wiser. The plane was dark, most people were sleeping. Yet here we were, touching each other, growing warmer, pulses racing, and completely silent.
He put his finger on my knee, just one finger, and teasingly ran it up toward my body,and in the process, raising my skirt all the way up. My eyes involuntarily closed – holy cow, this is maddening. Everything in me wanted to throw this man down and take him. But the teasing was so hot, I played along.
When I did the same to his thigh, I noticed how hard he was. My fingers brushed against his erection, and he exhaled: a long, low breath. Both of us, it seemed, were rocking our pelvis’ back and forth, sometimes thrusting upwards, slowly, seductively, occasionally glancing sideways at each other, yet never making eye contact. This was an unspoken contract – let’s please each other and then go our separate ways. It was fine with me.
I reached up and took his zipper in my fingers, and pulled it down, slowly. His eyes closed and a low moan escaped him. His obvious aroused state prodded me on. He sprang out of his pants, stiff and smooth, and I lightly stroked his shaft with my fingertips, teasing him, making him want more than just fingertips. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. I wanted him badly.
His hand stopped touching me as he enjoyed my hand around his cock. My fingers running gently over the head of his cock elicited another moan from my seat partner, and I took a firmer hold of him and began pumping my hand up and down, up and down, matching his thrusts through my hand. Watching the blanket rise and fall was getting to me.
I reached over with my free hand, and took hold of the blanket. He startled, and looked at me with a question in those delicious blue-green eyes. I smiled the wickedest smile I could muster, flashed my caramel eyes at him and ducked under the blanket. He didn’t resist. He covered the rest of my body with the blanket, and laid his arm across my back, and I began.
I’ve always been good at fellatio. I take it deep and vary my technique and – most guys love this – I swallow. I care about pleasing my partner. In other words, Kadıköy Escort I aim to satisfy. I enjoy doing it, myself, as well. The moans, the movements from above me, they all encourage me into going longer. I usually do, with relish. I’m like Tinkerbell – I can go “straight on till morning.”
I got close enough for him to feel my hot breath on the head of his cock. He stopped rocking and was still – waiting, I suppose, for the inevitable. I reached over and spread his thighs a bit, and held him around his hips while my other hand held his cock. My tongue began to draw lazy circles on the smooth head.
Another moan from outside the blanket. Mmmmm, I love hearing that. I gently let him feel my teeth, the hard, smooth surface giving him a different, unexpected sensation. He resumed a slight pumping rhythm again. Fine with me. Give it to me, honey, I’m ready and willing!
I am a noisy “headmistress,” I admit. I take delight in “oohhing” and “ahhing” and purring and all the lovely sounds that go along with erotic activities. So, I was moaning with my mouth full, as it were, as I introduced his cock, little by little, into my warm, wet mouth. In a little, out again, in a little more, out again, and a little more, and out, and then all the ways down till I could feel his cock in the back of my throat, till I could gulp and constrict his cock, till his pubic hair tickled my nose and mouth. I loved going this far down onto him. I felt his hand resting on my head – he obviously was kinda fond of it, himself.
I think I probably could have sucked a golf ball through a garden hose, giving the length of time it’d been since I’d had sex of any kind. So, I kept up the vacuum, pulling back on his cock and letting him feel like it was a bit of a tug of war – my mouth pulling one way, his hips pulling the other, and then back again. My hand began to caress his balls while I sucked, and I heard another delicious sound from over the blankets. I got faster . . . licking with a pointy tongue, fluttering up the sides of his cock, curling my tongue around the side of his shaft and painting his cock with saliva, flattening my tongue and swiping it from the base to the head, plenty of full lipped, wet kisses all over. I was getting so wet and so swollen, I had to come up for air, and take a look at the effect my attention had on my friend.
Oh, what a look.
His eyes were just slightly open, his lips parted a bit, his head back. When I appeared over the blanket again, he looked at me – geez, those eyes were killers! – and leaned into me, and we kissed. This wasn’t just a tentative peck, this was a passionate, sloppy, I-can’t-wait-to-have-you type of kiss. We moaned into each others’ mouths, the heat of the moment directing us.
His turn under the blanket. His head nuzzled me through my shirt – his tongue playing with my nipples, slowly, teasingly, the fabric of my shirt rubbing against me and driving me nuts. He sucked my nipples like I sucked his cock – totally giving, attention to detail . . . and he liked the sounds I made, too.
While his mouth paid attention to my ample breasts (38DD – more than Bostancı Escort a mouthful), his hand slid down my tummy and between my legs. I felt a rush of moisture as I got wetter still, my skirt was still raised from before. His finger traced inside the leg of my panties, and I held my breath, waiting, waiting . . .
His finger slowly rubbed my clit, circling around and around it, making it grow harder with each passing of his fingertips. Back and forth, he moved it slowly, and now it was my turn to pump – I wanted him inside me. Hopefully, he’d get the hint.
Just the tip of his finger at first, just to test the water. When I didn’t protest or otherwise stop him, he slid the rest of his finger inside me – an easy trip, given how wet I was. He tapped and circled my G-spot, and I got a bit louder; so loud, in fact, that I got my mini pillow and held it over my mouth. I didn’t want to wake everyone up – I wanted to finish!
He was so skilled with his fingers, you’d think he always did this to strangers in planes. He was completely still, his fingers the only part of him moving. They started out slow, driving me crazy, wanting it faster, faster – but he did everything so slowly, like he was going to tease me unmercifully until I begged him for it. Then, another finger found its way into me – mmmmmm, it felt like a cock, the two fingers slowly pumping into me, then separating inside me on their withdrawal. My shifting in my seat was getting obvious to the stewardesses. They cast disapproving looks in my direction, but I didn’t care – I wanted this. I wanted him!
His head now above the blankets, he kissed me again as his fingers fucked me. If I could have straddled him there in his seat, I think I would have. We didn’t break stares now, looking at each other with gentle desire and obvious lust and almost “I-dare-you-to-do-more” expressions.
He took his finger out of me, and raised it to his lips, taking it in and tasting the juices from me. He closed his eyes as he licked and sucked his finger, then held it to my mouth, and I greedily accepted. His finger in my mouth reminded me – I hadn’t finished on him.
Under the blankets again.
He was still hard, and still enticing. My mouth enveloped him immediately, and began my teasing and pumping again. When he climaxed, I hungrily swallowed every drop, not stopping my feast until he’d spent every drop he had, and then some. He came almost silently, just a slight guttural sound that only I could hear. His hands massaged my neck and upper back while I took care of him.
It would have continued for a long time, but we were beginning our final approach to the airport. Damn. I was enjoying this flight.
We straightened up, and the armrest came back down. We resumed our roles as business class seat mates. Politely apart. When we finally stopped and were getting out of our seats, he pressed against me from behind as I waited to get out of our row. I leaned back into him and found out he was still excited. I rubbed against his cock with my butt, teasing him. He had a sultry laugh, a low “hmm hmm hmm!” type sound. Oh, I wanted to turn around and say, “Here’s my number, call me, and I want to have you again as soon as possible!”
But that was the end of our “relationship.” He got off the plane and disappeared in the terminal, and I was left with just one, hot memory of the stranger in the seat next to mine.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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