|posted on 25-Apr-2002 4:17:31 AM by behrhugs|
|Title: My Flight of Fancy|
Disclaimer: I own nothing, these characters are not mine.
Summary: One of my mates was pestering me for some smut, and this is what I came up with.... hehehe This is dedicated to J. Thanx mate, you made this all possible!!
Also a dedication to all our ANZAC heroes.... they have made our world a better place!
Raphael insisted that he needed me, and I wanted him so much it made my heart ache. I know that sounds mad, but when I thought of him, my heart thudded so much it seemed as though it would stop beating.
The night before, at the airport hotel, Raph made love to me more tenderly, more thoroughly than he had in ages. And this morning, at the airport, waiting over the trolleys, he promised me that as soon as he could, he would join me in Thailand, and then we would travel around the world together.
The woman next to me, in the middle seat, was also just waking up. She looked relaxed, the kind of person who had been all over the world and is used to flying. She
had been having a few drinks, whereas sensible me was drinking only water. She stretched out languidly, catlike, and then turned to the man in the window seat. He had a well-shaped nose and a shadow of stubble on a strong jaw. His dark hair was hanging over his forehead and he was wearing loose fitting jeans and a button-down
The lights were switched off and a video began. The young boy in the seat behind intermittently kicked at the back of my seat, but every time I turned to tell him to
stop, he snuggled up, playing the innocent to a formidable-looking grandfather.
My pretty neighbour leaned towards the man and planted a kiss on the side of his mouth. He looked surprised, and then kissed her full on the lips. They gave each other pursed kisses and then firmer, deeper ones.
They were squeezing their lips on each other, pressing their softness closer. Her hand crept around to touch the back of his head, and to drag him into her. Their lips joined and opened wide. I could see the healthy pink of his tongue as it peeped forwards into her welcoming mouth.
I tried not to look, but they were really going for it. Then his eyes clicked open and he stared straight at me - or was that through me - as his lips wrapped around the fullness of her mouth. She stopped kissing him and they started whispering heatedly. She giggled.
They were kissing again; heavy, lids-closed kissing. His hand made a slow crawl across her thin silk shirt, moving stealthily before arriving at the alluring roundness of
I held my breath. I could almost feel his touch. My body grew damp and eager. I could sense their mouths working more earnestly now, and I heard her let out small
but desperate groans of arousal. I clutched myself tightly about the arms. I felt shamefully voyeuristic. But it wasn’t my fault, was it?
His hands were fondling and feeling her. I could see her nipples harden through the soft silk of her shirt. I realised disgracefully that my nipples, echoing hers, were becoming stiff too. I remembered the night before: the way Raph had pulled at my shirt and clutched me towards him; the way he’d fondled me before suckling at my breasts, my fingers in his hair. My pussy was fluttering.
She pulled him closer. I saw that she was running her fingers up and down his shirt before grasping at the gap. Tickling at the buttons, she pulled his shirt apart and
succeeded in sliding her fingers inside. She was touching his nipples. I wondered what they felt like.
I remembered sucking Raph’s nipples the previous evening, I’d stabbed them with my tongue, and watched how they’d hardened in response. I’d teased my tongue around the tender pinkies but when he actually penetrated me I had to leave them, fearing I would bite them off in my frenzy. Instead I rested, open-mouthed and slavering, around his neck, sucking the skin there.
The couple were clutching each other and when they weren’t kissing each other’s lips they were kissing each other’s faces, noses, and eyes. He sucked her eyebrows
sensuously. I remembered then how Raph had licked me between my legs, tending to my clit, feeding off the small ball of pleasure. He loved it when I moaned his name.
The other man’s hand was working too. He was stroking her knees. I watched the progress of his fingers. I dare say I was mentally egging him on. I wanted to see how
far they would go, how far they would dare.
He raised her skirt. She had shapely brown thighs. His hand roamed higher to reveal her tiny white knickers. There was really nothing of them, just a gate of white cotton. Only the truly beautiful, as she was, could wear them with aplomb. He edged them down.
I busied myself with my guidebook. I pretended that the article about the Thai royal family was engrossing. But I still wanted to hear what would happen next. I could hear the sound of her wetness. I couldn’t help wishing that Raph was with me, doing that to me.
There were more groans and then the sigh of a zip being undone. I couldn’t resist looking. She was lying back, her dark silky tresses laid halo-like over the staid airline seat. She looked like an artist’s model from the nineteenth century. She was small and her belly was flat and brown.
Look away, look away.
Okay, I told myself, maybe he was fresh out of jail. Hadn’t had sex for years. I’ve always liked that idea. He was wrongly convicted of something, some lovely juicy
crime, and there’s me waiting outside in the convertible. No, too old-fashioned. Maybe she’s been in jail. For? Yes, a love crime, and he took her away. Or perhaps
he’d been exiled from his country since they were childhood sweethearts and only now could they meet again. Possibly, they hadn’t been together for ten years or something while he struggled to restore his country to democracy. Or maybe this is simply how people start their honeymoons.
He held her face and gazed down into her eyes, then kissed her deeply, passionately. Their soft and probing fingers produced sighs of pleasure wherever they roamed.
His finger was exploring her pubic area and I couldn’t stop looking. She sat back complacently in the seat, widening her legs, opening up. It looked fantastic, a prize
winning pussy. I wanted to put my finger there, too. I didn’t want to do anything with it, I just wanted to feel the smooth silky surface, to know what it was like.
And then she was tearing at his fly, her little fingers working on his zip like a hundred tiny insects. She yanked down his jeans, and he had on just a small pair of pants and then they came down too.
I was surprised he had managed to bring his cock on the aircraft without declaring it. She tugged at the shaft and with her other hand caressed his balls.
Oh God, they wouldn’t! Not at this close proximity. They were like two teenagers, two heavy-petting teenagers. Please stop. This was much too much.
He turned her onto her side so she was facing away from me. His hands were supporting her round bum. There was something that got me about her butt being
divided by that piece of string. His finger caught it, and moved it aside easily. She made no objection. He opened her thighs and slid down on the chair, so that he was
eye to eye with her pussy. He leaned forward.
She put her arm behind her head. She was exultant, abandoned, and so concentrated on her pleasure. His face was pressed against my armrest as he drank in her wetness and, as he dipped up and down, he knocked against my leg. She was panting like she was running a race.
He pulled the blanketover them, but still they bobbed around underneath. Her feet, in their perfect sandals, were splayed wide apart. One foot in the case in front of me, the other against the window. They squirmed under the grey blanket. Someone patted me on the shoulder. I jumped in my seat feeling guilty.
"Anything to drink?"
"No, nothing," I said. The blanket continued moving, like a monster or like children scrambling around in a tent.
"Ice cream?" The stewardess looked peevishly at my wobbling neighbours.
"No, thank you. Oh, they’re sleeping," I added. The attendant moved on.
They pushed off the blanket, and now he was flat under her. His head was jammed right next to me. She got on top of him. She didn’t dare sit completely upright, but she
was small and tight, so she hid herself well.
I felt the boy behind smash my seat with his football kicks. Why was I in the goddamned aisle seat? It could have been me in the middle seat!
She started her grinding movement on top of him, pouncing up and down, swaying from side to side. She looked beautiful. I could feel myself unwillingly producing
waves. I could feel the wetness between my legs. To be this close to the act, it was like a dream or an hallucination.
The woman’s face was serene and meditative. She was rocking up and down, her slim thighs working him, either side of him, pressing shallow and then deep and he was
gasping, his face crushed into her breasts, as she held her head down, nibbling at his neck. They were whispering, but their arousal was still audible.
She squelched into his lap, and her hard pink-tipped nipples slapped against his face. He lifted her butt even higher, and I could see from her rucked-up skirt, that his big hand was exploring her thoroughly, probing her. And then she let out a short series of explicit moans and her whole body trembled like petals in a breeze.
"We are cruising at thirty eight thousand feet." The captain’s voice boomed over the system. "Our destination is hot, hot, hot. If you haven’t already adjusted your watches, it’s seven o’clock in the evening, local time. We hope you have a wonderful time in Thailand and we look forward to flying with you again."
They kissed lingeringly. After the storm, now the calm. I caught sight of a big diamond on the wedding finger of her left hand. So they were honeymooners! And who could blame them for their lust?
"Thank you," the woman said to me, "for saying nothing."
"You’re welcome," I responded awkwardly and then because it seemed ill-mannered to finish our interaction at that, I added, "What’s your name?"
"Liz." She shook my hand with her tiny one.
"And your husband? What’s his name?"
"His name is Max." She took my hand again. I could feel the scrape of her wedding ring against my sweating finger. "You look very pale."
"Do I?" I asked, burning between the legs. I looked away, but she persisted, laughing.
"Do you think we’ll crash?"
"No, I don’t think so."
"Then maybe you’re just afraid of flying?" she asked.
Maybe, I thought. Maybe that was what it was.
Max then looked at me. His amber eyes seeming to pierce my soul, and I knew, I just knew that more was happening here than met the eye.
[ edited 2 time(s), last at 26-Apr-2002 4:28:34 AM ]