A Close Encounter on the Plane

We left her that way for a while, occasionally tugging on the belts to keep her interested. A flight attendant, bearing water for a parched passenger glanced at us as she passed. I may have been mistaken, but she did seem to do a slight double-take before she moved on.

After a period of quiet, it was time. I re-raised the blanket and nodded at him. He and I leant in and I watched intently as he parted her lips, outer then inner, slowly wider, exposing her gaping, juicy pink insides with his erotically contrasting dark fingers. The handy flaps of Jo's labia minora were swollen and shiny, but with strong fingers, he tested their limits. Then, still gripping, he shuffled his fingers gradually upwards and checked under the hood, probing, stretching and rubbing. He then peeled back the hood to ensure that her meaty, swelling nub was prominently exposed.

We gazed in awe. It was so beautiful, so desirable: a direct portal to Jo's sexual mind. Her puffy, slippery lips added to the allure. He stroked her slick slit, gathering moisture, then softly and then with increasing firmness, rubbed hard against her clitoris. Jo responded with sighs of pleasure, so he carried on relentlessly and then suddenly paused. Jo whimpered softly, unsatisfied.

He then took a sticker from the back of her hand and pressed it firmly against her clit and surrounds. Next, he ripped it off, Brazilian style, catching a few hairs in the pleasingly strong adhesive as he did. Jo gasped and he repeated the process until there was no more grip. As he applied a fresh sticker, I rummaged for more and handed them to him one by one so that he could further abuse her clitoral region.

He used each adhesive label slightly differently, roughly and softly, quickly and slowly, ensuring it was stranger than mere friction. One pass uprooted quite a few hairs, bringing tears to her eyes. Another was carefully prepared. First he dabbed and dried the region carefully, then held a fresh sticker very firmly straight onto her dried clit. It stuck particularly well to her clitoris, and when he slowly raised the sticker, Jo's clit was stretched away from her body obscenely, before popping back.

Jo revelled in the variety, always unsure of what violation was coming and when. At one stage he demonstrated his musical dexterity, playing her like an instrument, using his fingertips as a sort of plectrum, the intense clitoral flicking triggering a strangled groan.

When we had finally run out of stickers, Jo was operating in short ragged breaths, face and cunt reddened and sheeny. Although her head remained fairly still, she writhed and squirmed somewhat, making quiet whimpering noises, but did quite well. I then noticed that in writhing, she had dared to free her hair from its sticky constraint.

That wasn't on and by her expression, I could tell that she knew full well that she was being very naughty. I reapplied it firmly, putting her in her place. In different circumstances, her hair would have been restrained by hand, but I didn't have that option. Jo got the message, screwed her eyes further shut and rigidly stilled her head.

She deserved to be punished for this transgression, not to mention the fact that she had chosen to seduce a stranger right under my nose. First I pressed onto her clit and marvelled at the heat and the bullet-like hardness. I took Jo's ravaged, battered nub and stroked, rubbed, squeezed, pinched and twisted. She was doing her best to suppress the urge to cry out, for even through the plane's background noise, certain types of sounds would be audible to any interested onlookers or eavesdroppers.

It was at this time that I thought I detected movement, and maybe sounds behind us, so I glanced up, but saw nothing to confirm my suspicions. We all paused though. It may just have been the strange, almost claustrophobic feel of the situation playing tricks with our minds, but if someone in the row behind us was paying us close attention, they wouldn't necessarily let us know it.

We were all intensely focused and the excitement and tension was heightened by the fact that we had to keep as immobile and silent as possible, the fear of being caught ever present. That, combined with the long periods of anticipation and the inevitable slight cognitive dissonance generated by the incongruous sexual environment made the experience quite uncanny. Jo's open-legged vulnerability and obvious struggle with the requirement to be quiet and still was very sexy, but I had to be careful not to draw attention to her, even if deep down I hoped that someone really was watching us.

I suppose it hadn't fully sunk in to my consciousness that all this really was happening, that dreams can sometimes come true. I realise that I may be going on a bit about this uncanny aspect, but you really had to be there to appreciate it. It was integral. My description of it can only be a shadow.

Risk or no risk, I was unable to resist, so I dared to periodically gently and teasingly manipulate Jo's clit, just to keep her on edge. Well, not just her; doing her semi-publicly certainly excited him and me too. The fear of detection may have been heightened by paranoia, but I certainly didn't want us to get charged with outraging public decency. Maybe they have CCTV on planes?

The sounds I was hearing may just have been in my imagination - I'll probably never know, but I did wait until I was fairly certain I couldn't hear them before I increased the intensity of the pressure on her nub again till she could hardly bear it.

The guitarist looked on, a little taken aback by my qualm-free, savage, borderline brutal clitoral abuse, but he also gave an excellent impression of a man about to ejaculate hands-free in his trousers, so when I whispered to him to hold Jo's cunt open, he immediately did, gripping a flap in each hand, parting and stretching her lips, thus widening her even further. Fortuitously discovering an unused sticker, I reached under her, wrist pressing into her now sopping gash and located her arsehole, also hot and moist.

Jo's body stiffened at the unexpected intrusion, her dirtiest hole clenching tightly and most pleasingly as I penetrated it deeply with my digit. I carried on probing until my wrist ached and then, holding her cheeks apart as best I could, I attached the sticker, managing a passable job of neatly sealing her still puckering rear entrance. As long as the adhesive held, she would be reminded of its insistent presence.

I then resumed her frontal molestation and after a teasingly slow start, increased the intensity of my battery of her by now obscenely engorged clitoris until I detected signs of orgasm in my charge. Upon my pause, Jo, her comely face covered in sweat, trickles running down her nose and chin, moaned a long, plaintive 'no', so I prolonged her torment with softer clitoral contact of semi-random magnitude. This had the desired effect as she threshed and wriggled in her seat, violently enough that he and I, in order to hold her fast, both needed to arrest an upper arm. Her thighs of course were going nowhere.

In normal circumstances, we'd have toyed with our plaything further, but the risk was starting to seem too great. So, with gusto, a few quick flicks and a final rough coup de grace flourish, I toppled her over the brink, having continued the punishment until satiation had been achieved. Finally, face fully flushed, she swore, moaned and slowly subsided, seeping, gurgling and drooling, her pert breasts gradually heaving a little less each time, but still reflecting the fluttering of her heart; her big, bulbous nipples poking alternately proud and compressed.

It may seem fanciful, but I was convinced that a drop of water on her clit at this point would have sizzled, some egg white fried. The barely human sounds she generated at the end were probably loud enough to be detected by any interested parties, but as far as I could tell, nobody heard; or if they did, they kept it to themselves. Overcome by the beauty of the situation, I leant close and inhaled her now extra pungent, heady fragrance and luxuriated, floating in the wave of emotion that engulfed me. This truly is living.

Undoing the belts, we released her from her captivity, the deep pressure marks on her arms and thighs fading slightly, but blatantly visible. She winced as full circulation gradually returned. There may be some consequent mild bruising, but nothing to worry about. We were just in time as soon after, the cabin lights came on and we heard the sounds of breakfast being prepared.

The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful; we all got some fitful rest and now that the lights were on again, the spell was largely broken, our private world violated. Jo and he still intermittently chatted amiably, but generally tiredness ruled. As the plane went into its final descent, he reminded us that his band would be playing near our town in a few days and that he'd be honoured if we could make it, if not to the show, then at least to meet him afterwards at the bar of the hotel he was staying in.

I said that we couldn't be certain, but we'd take the details and try to make it to the bar at least. No promises though. Jo just nodded. No mention was made of what had transpired in the semi-darkness.

As the plane landed heavily and noisily on the runway, Jo was gazing out of his window, leaning in his direction for a better view. Bracing herself, her hand temporarily found itself using his groin as support. She said to him: "Ooh! That was exciting, it almost felt as if we were going to crash. I really love it when I get a thrill and a rush like that. My heart is racing."

After a deep breath, he smiled and placed his big hand on her beating heart. Nodding approvingly, he replied: "this landing certainly was thrilling: the best I can ever remember. I am privileged to have enjoyed it in the close company of such a delightful and beautiful lady." Jo blushed.

Further using the pretext of looking out the window, she leant over him and I am sure she brushed his groin again, presumably testing his hardness. It seems that her hopes were confirmed as they exchanged glances and smiles. I cannot be sure, but I think I also detected a flutter of her eyelashes. She was certainly coyly biting her lip.

There did seem to be quite a lump in his trousers and Jo was determined to get a very good view out the window, leaning right over, almost leaving her seat, were it not for the seat-belt. It must have been squeezing her very tightly.

He closed his eyes in what I assume was another determined effort to not explode in his underwear and Jo seemed equally minded to tease him. Eventually she leant back into her seat flushed and as I glanced over I noticed that he'd now covered his lap with his hands. He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but it did look slightly unnatural.

After unclipping my seat-belt for the last time, I thoughtfully ran my finger over the cold metal, reflecting on exactly where it had been and how I'll never be able to view plane seat-belts in quite the same light ever again.

As we left the plane, I allowed them to precede me down the aisle, his much larger body following very close behind her diminutive frame. He, holding his hand luggage behind him, contrived to collide against her on occasion, without apology, as they proceeded slowly down the aisle; though she, holding her luggage in front of her, did apply the brakes suddenly a few times, almost as if inviting him to rear-end her.

His braking was not so sharp. There was something of the river about it: a vessel drifting inevitably into port, bound to make contact.

*****

As ever, I crave and am aroused by feedback, votes and comments.