There's something incredibly thrilling about airplanes. When you're 33,000 feet in the air, you're neither here nor there. Reality is suspended, and anything goes. There's a very good reason why the Mile High Club has so many members, as this woman found out. Who said air travel was no longer glamorous, exciting, and sexy? You hear about people being upgraded to first class all the time, but you never think it'll happen to you. Not to an ordinary woman like me. But it did happen to me, and it turned out to be a very memorable journey indeed.
I was flying from Edinburgh to London for a meeting. Any thoughts I might have had about glamorous business travel were dashed when my boss handed me an economy ticket, saying it wasn't worth paying extra for an hourlong domestic flight. When I arrived at the airport early in the morning and handed my passport and confirmation number to the girl behind the desk, her face fell.
"I'm so sorry, but this flight is overbooked," she said. She must have registered the mild panic that was showing on my own face; I had to make this meeting. But before I could even start to plead and protest, she began tapping away frantically on her keyboard.
"Oh!" Her expression brightened. "Actually, this is your lucky day! We've got a spare seat in first, so we can upgrade you."
Then she handed me a shiny boarding pass and pointed me toward the fast-track security gate. I sashayed through in under a minute, hoping I looked like I belonged in first class. I was glad that the nature of my meeting demanded I wear a suit that day. The security guard who checked my pass directed me to the executive lounge, which was subtly signposted behind a bar. I stepped through a frosted-glass door and into another world. A uniformed bartender squeezing oranges for juice looked up and immediately offered me freshly ground coffee. Free newspapers were strewn across designer glass tables, and on leather sofas that would have looked more at home in a five-star hotel lobby sat well-dressed, glamorous people passing time before their flights. I looked at them in awe. My new companions all radiated money, power, and, of course, sex, and here I was, right among them.
One guy in particular stood out. He was immaculately dressed in a dark-blue pinstripe suit, whose jacket fell open to reveal an expensive turquoise silk lining as well as the flat stomach lurking beneath his pale blue shirt and tie. His dirty-blond hair was close-cropped, his rugged face and square jaw softened by a pair of pink lips that made a vague pout as he concentrated on his copy of The Wall Street Journal. If this was the type of man that flew business class, I was going to have to make sure I earned enough money to do it more regularly.
I was so comfortable that the hour's wait went by quickly, and soon my flight to London was called. I was so excited that I was the first one up the stairs and onto the jet. As I sank into the burgundy leather chair, easily as big and comfortable as any armchair in my flat, the stewardess handed me a glass of champagne. Yes, I thought, as I kicked off my high-heeled shoes and curled my bare legs up under me, this is the way to travel. It simply does not get any better.
And then I realized that it did get better, because who should be sliding his briefcase into the overhead compartment other than Mr. Moneybags himself, the very man I'd just spent an hour checking out in the lounge! Up close, I could see that he was a little older than I'd first thought-around forty, forty-five-but this only made him sexier, more distinguished. When he sat down next to me, giving me a formal nod, I could smell his expensive cologne. I also noticed that his nails were manicured and shiny. The man oozed wealth and sophistication in a way that made me feel incredibly aroused.
And I wasn't sure, but I thought that the attraction might even be mutual. I caught him sneaking a glance at my bare, brown legs and my pretty toes, painted a flattering shade of pale pink. He thought I couldn't see him behind his copy of the paper, but I could. I smiled at him, emboldened by my single glass of champagne, and he immediately broke eye contact and buried himself even more deeply in his paper. I fidgeted in my seat, trying to force him to look at me, subtly undoing the top button of my blouse so that when he next looked up, he'd see a tantalizing glimpse of the camisole underneath. When I handed my empty glass back to the stewardess before takeoff, I made sure that my arm brushed against his.
"So sorry," I said, even though I was nothing of the sort. I wondered if he, too, had felt a little charge of sexual tension pass between us. I yawned and stretched, showing off my waist to its best advantage and leaned forward so he could see the curve of my breasts. And it started to work. He wasn't concentrating on his newspaper anymore, and he was starting to look a little bit uncomfortable, as though there was a lot going on beneath that starched Savile Row suit.
The thought of his body, flesh and blood, coming to life underneath that cool, suave exterior, really excited me. Once we took off, the combination of the jet engine's rumbling, the sheer sensual luxury of the leather seat, and the fact that I'd been writhing and purring like a cat in heat, was a huge turn-on. This man was pumping out sexual energy like a power station-and I was absorbing all of it.
I glanced up and met his eyes, piercing blue and staring right at me, before he looked down to my breast. I realized that my hand had been caressing my collarbone and idly tracing the contours of my bosom-I do that sometimes when I'm thinking about sex-but I certainly didn't know I'd started to do it in public. Blushing, I lowered my gaze to his lap, and there it was-a hard-on with my name on it. His erection, which looked as big and powerful as the rest of him, was straining at his trousers, making a little tent of the pinstriped wool. As I watched, it grew even bigger, and the color rose in his cheeks as we both silently acknowledged the effect we were having on each other.
He parted his lips and closed his eyes for a moment. I pictured what his face would look like when he came, and bam-that mental image, a vivid, erotic image, sent a surge of hot blood to my pussy. A violent throbbing between my legs made me catch my breath. Okay, I thought to myself, you're in trouble now. Initially, I'd been attracted to this guy and wondered what it might be like to fuck him. Now, suddenly, that idle daydream had turned into a real possibility. My problem now was that I had to fuck him. No two ways about it. But where? How? And when? Dear God, it needed to be soon. I had never felt this frustrated in my life, and it was making my head spin.
I took a few deep breaths and tried to clear my head. Crossing my legs was something between agony and ecstasy, my throbbing pussy so engorged that the slightest touch or movement sent fresh waves of tension through my body. What was I supposed to do now? We had barely spoken two words to each other. And the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign was still on, so even if I wanted to rush to the bathroom to get myself off-a tempting option that would take only seconds-I was stuck in my seat.
As our jet climbed into the clouds, surging through pockets of turbulence, the turning of my stomach was keeping time with the adrenaline already pumping through my system. Every lurch I felt in the seat stimulated my body further. I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down, but when I did I couldn't help imagining his body, his chest, his legs. I pictured strong arms, a toned stomach leading to a fuzz of dark-blond hair leading to-oh, God, I had to have him. I snapped my eyes open again. He was looking at my tits, glancing down at nipples that had become hard and swollen as I thought about his naked body. His paper was now folded on his lap. Did I dare reach out and touch him? Would I be able to stop once I did?
It was still dark outside and the stewardess dimmed the lights, announcing that we would need to turn on the overhead lights if we wished to continue reading. The tiny electric bulbs above illuminated the cabin like candlelight, bathing us all in a soft, sexy glow. Would he switch on his overhead spotlight and return to his newspaper, or was now the chance I'd been waiting for?
What I saw next made me suck in my breath with delighted astonishment and my hand fluttered automatically to my collarbone, where I began to caress myself again. He undid his trousers, and I could tell by the way his hand disappeared under his newspaper that he was stroking himself. He started off with his eyes closed, but then he turned to look at me, raising one dark-blond eyebrow. That look was a challenge, one that I gladly accepted.
I checked to see if any one was looking and then rearranged myself in my large airline seat so that I sat cross-legged, Buddha-style, hitching up my skirt so that it bunched around my middle. First of all, I pulled the gusset of my cotton panties back and forth, enjoying the friction it created on my pussy, grateful at this stage for any stimulation. God, they were soaking; the damp, warm fabric felt like smoothest silk on my hot, wet, aching cunt. Then, turning my whole body toward him so he could see, I pulled my panties to one side. For a while, I just let him look at my pussy, wet and pulsing, my clit dark pink and protruding, aching for his touch but having to make do with mine. He smiled and licked his lips. Then, with my forefinger, I began to fondle myself. I began with gentle caresses to my clit, which sent the first real surge of pleasure to my body. Soon even that wasn't enough, and I slid first one, then two fingers inside myself.
The knowledge that I was showing my sex to a complete stranger and that we might be caught at any minute-with unthinkable consequences-made my whole body throb with a desire that bordered on terror. Every time I touched myself, my arousal grew more intense than any I'd ever felt before.
He lifted the newspaper to show me his cock. Even in the half-light I could tell that it was big, thick, and the same pale peach color as his complexion. His smooth hand worked his hard-on, teasing the dark tip of his penis out from under his foreskin. His balls remained encased inside his trousers, a small gesture of restraint that I found wildly sexy. I was transfixed as his left hand made smooth, firm strokes along his twitching rod in a steady rhythm up and down, up and down.
From the intense throbbing in my pussy and clit and the pins and needles that were shooting up and down my limbs, my whole body was turning to jelly. I was close to climax, and my own teasing of my clitoris became more and more frantic. Perhaps he sensed that I was about to come, because when I was seconds away from the rippling relief of a huge orgasm, he snatched my hand away from between my legs, leaving me wide-eyed and panting, and transferred it to his splendid shaft. When my fingers closed around the warm skin, I heard a soft moan barely audible above the noise of the jet engine. Then, as suddenly as he'd snatched my hand, he removed it, zipped himself up, looked away from me, and moved to get up out of his chair.
But why? My mind reeled with resentful confusion while my body continued to thrum with longing. Had I put him off? Had I touched him wrong? I was sure I was going to feel his hands on my clitoris, but maybe I'd misinterpreted him. Disappointment must have shown in my face, because he winked at me and nodded toward the lavatory door. Suddenly I understood and felt a fresh wave of desire wash over me as I saw him disappear through the tiny door, his tall, lean body briefly silhouetted against the light inside, his bulk filling the whole area. He was a big man in a small space, and we'd have to get very, very close.
I couldn't follow him right away without causing suspicion. I waited for the stewardess to attend to someone else while I continued rubbing my pussy. I couldn't take my hands away. I had never been so wet before, thinking of that craggy face with its soft inviting mouth I was only seconds from kissing.
Finally the stewardess moved on to refill another first-class passenger's coffee. Not even bothering to put my shoes back on, I slipped out of my seat, went over to the lavatory door, and knocked softly. The door folded to one side, and a strong arm pulled me in. He was there, trousers 'round his ankles, shirt hanging open with his tie 'round his neck, a stunning washboard stomach above that beautiful dick, a single vein now pulsing urgently along its length. He pulled me to him and gave me a kiss that was soft and sensitive yet urgent and probing at the same time, pressing his body against mine so that his dick jabbed into my belly. I felt my body melt under his touch, and when he sat down on the toilet seat, I gladly let him pull me to him. For a few seconds, we were opposite each other, eyes locked, bodies touching, while he rolled my panties over my hips and down my legs. The cold air of the cabin on the burning skin of my ass, my thighs, my pussy, was exhilarating.
I parted my legs so they were on either side of his lap and pulled my skirt up so that he could see my pussy. I wanted him to see how wet and swollen he'd got me. He held one of his hands flat against my pussy lips, feeling them throb and pulse, while he reached out with the other and softly massaged my tits, making my already erect nipples stand up and darken like pink berries.
I lowered myself onto the trembling tip of his dick, letting the rounded end rest against the entry to my dripping slit for a few seconds. I had meant to hover there, teasing both of us, but I couldn't; I needed him inside me there and then. Not able to wait another second for his dick to fill me up, I lowered myself, letting his thick, sturdy cock pry my lips apart and finally penetrate me, filling me up, giving me what I needed so badly. I pounded my pussy on his dick, pushing down with all my body weight, swallowing him up. I wanted to recapture the first thrill of penetration, so I raised my thighs until his cock was nearly out of me, then I sank down again, hard. Every time I bore down on his hard-on it seemed bigger, and I felt fuller, more satisfied, nearer to my orgasm.
My palms were pressed against the walls of the cubicle for balance, my legs and arms aching with the sheer effort of holding this position in such a tiny space. For days afterward, I would feel delicious pain in my limbs from the sheer exertion of it all. At the time, I could think only of his face, inches away from mine, and his dick, moving inside me, hot and hard and big and thick. It was the best feeling in the world.
I placed one hand on his shoulder to steady myself, my tense fingers digging into firm, muscular flesh, and the other hand on the mirror, where it left a sweaty print. I could see my body reflected in the glass, soft flesh a blur of movement.
His hands squeezed and slapped my ass, guiding my hips up and down on his dick. My tits were level with his face. Covering his perfect teeth with those amazing lips, he nipped my breasts through my blouse, starting softly and then building up to the more aggressive, urgent stimulation that I needed.
At that moment, a stewardess's voice came over the speaker. "We will begin our descent in five minutes," she said. "The captain has engaged the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign. Will all passengers please return to their seats and fasten their seat belts immediately." We had no more time to enjoy each other's bodies. If we stayed where we were they'd knock on the door and find us in there together, and airlines take a dim view of passengers applying for membership in the Mile High Club. The knowledge that it was now or never just made the whole experience more intense. With my entire body, I writhed on him, grinding my clitoris into the base of his pubic bone while he thrust into me so hard that I thought I would explode. I buried my head in his chest, allowing his crisp, masculine scent to flood my senses as I pushed and rubbed against his body, the friction in my clitoris finally spilling over into delicious vibrations that radiated throughout me like concentric circles of pleasure, rippling out from between my legs. I came around his dick, my pussy squeezing and releasing his dick, sucking the life out of it, smelling his spunk and sweat as he pumped me full of hot, white liquid. I shuddered as the waves of pleasure subsided. His heart was pounding, but neither of us had time to recover. Suddenly brisk and businesslike, he kissed me again, wiped my pussy clean with a hand towel, pulled my skirt back down over my hips, stroked my hair, and then, with a final slap on my ass, he shoved me out, blinking, into the narrow airplane corridor.
Walking in a straight line after such an intense fuck was a challenge. By the time I'd slipped on my shoes and checked my makeup again, he was back in the seat next to me. As the lights dimmed for landing, he leaned in and gave me one final lingering kiss that made me melt inside. It was a kiss good-bye, a final gesture to draw a line under an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime experience. When he left the plane he didn't look back, and, since he carried only a briefcase, I didn't see him at the luggage carousel. As I waited in line for a taxi, I saw him speed past in a chauffeur-driven limousine. He didn't see me. There goes the best sex of my life, I thought, and I don't even know his name.
The meeting went well. My in-flight experience had given me a new burst of confidence, and I gave a great presentation. That night, in my hotel room, I undressed, exhausted by my day. When I took off my skirt I found his business card in the pocket. Written on the back with an old-fashioned fountain pen were his mobile phone number and the details of his return flight to Edinburgh. He had also written; "Fancy an upgrade?"
I reached for my phone and punched in his number. That's the thing about first class; once you've had it, you can't go back.