“I bet you’re very wet right now. I bet you’re not thinking about how fast this plane is flying so it can get you to Miami and away from me.”
“No…I’m not.” There was a pause, while I breathed against her neck, out, then in, inhaling her scent, musky and flowery at once. “I like this,” she said quietly. It was a simple statement, and from someone else might’ve been a small admission. But from her, it was everything. I had her. I cupped her pussy once more through her jeans, grinding my palm against it. She sunk lower in her seat, pressing back against me.
I leaned over and pressed my forehead lightly against hers, kissed her cheek softly. Kissing on planes is highly underrated. My lips met the soft skin of her cheek and I was reminded of just how young she was, her skin perfectly smooth, so tender I could practically sink right inside it, full of promise. I was too old for her in real life, whatever that was, but here, on this plane, I didn’t mind making her feel hot and cold and aroused and wanted for a little while. She turned toward me and our lips met tenderly, like two teenagers making out in a movie theater, even as the ice wet her shirt and her pussy begged for more.
Her tongue insisted on entering my mouth, though her movements were small and tentative at first. I let her explore me before grabbing her hair and shoving my tongue into her mouth, as quietly as I could, the invasion swift, decisive. I knew our fellow passengers had to notice something amiss. It’s hard to ignore two people in the throes of passion; even if you think you’re not listening or observing, those telltale shifts, those familiar sounds rise up into your consciousness. I reminded myself that for all these people knew, she was my wife—my very young trophy wife, with me cast as the dirty old perv.
I didn’t mind though, and when we broke apart, panting, I held my hand to her lips. She kissed each finger in turn, then unbuckled her seat belt and slithered over me, making sure to pause when her legs were straddling mine, a look on her face that, for a moment, made me question whether she was, indeed,
as innocent as I’d painted her in my mind. She reached into the cup of ice and grabbed a handful, then winced as the shock of its cold sting greeted her. Then, still poised above me, Donna took a piece of ice and traced it over my lips, making them tremble, then part. She pressed it against my tongue and it felt heavy, solid.
She didn’t want to be in charge, I could tell, but she wanted to at least let me know she could be. Then she turned and walked toward the back of the plane.
I swallowed hard. When she’d been right in front of me, I could easily let myself forget our surroundings. With her gone, I tried my best to stare straight at my hand, examining imaginary hangnails, my cuticles, my skin, memorizing the hairs on my knuckles. I was embarrassed, a new emotion for me. I didn’t ask myself whether it was wrong to corrupt her, whether I should have waited for some other clueless kid her age who’d maybe banged one chick to show her what she was missing.
I was too horny for that. Her virginal yet knowing body was already haunting me. It had been, what, five years—or maybe more—since I’d been with a girl who was truly innocent, almost ignorant, about sex. Showing her not only how to please me but especially, how to please herself, the uses for her cunt and her clit and her nipples and her mouth, even the simple act of stroking the back of her neck: that’s what I wanted to do for Donna.
All of a sudden, I knew she was on her way back. I turned around and saw her practically limping. She had done it; she’d really done it. Until that moment, I hadn’t been totally sure, hadn’t trusted that she was a) curious enough to continue and b) able to get those cubes into her pussy. Cunts don’t exactly welcome freezing cold objects, but hers had. She walked around me and sat down, a look of heaven and torture across her face.
“You’re an asshole, you know,” she said.
“Am I? Really?”
“I bet you’re single. I bet all your girlfriends break up with you.”
She was taunting me, teasing me, and despite knowing better, it worked. I reached between her legs, feeling the cubes threatening to pop out. She continued to try to badmouth me, but I knew she was just putting up a front. I knew from the way her hips lifted against my hand, the cold wetness alive against my fingers. I didn’t even feel that sorry that I couldn’t slide my way inside her just then. I could have, but I liked the tension between us, liked seeing her react, almost despite herself.
“I think it’s time for a nap,” I said, smiling at her wickedly as I took my wet fingers and brushed them against her cheek. My index finger roamed over her lips. She let me inside, only to bite me, and I gritted my teeth. There’s nothing I love more than being bitten by a woman in the throes of ecstasy, when she hardly knows her own strength, and wouldn’t care if she did. I could tell Donna was a biter. And a screamer. And a gusher. Don’t ask me how; I just knew.
“Take it back,” I said. “What you wrote before. Take it back and maybe I’ll make you come.” I could see
I don’t need you to make me come,
flash across her mind, but she didn’t say it.
“I guess you were right,” she managed.
“You guess?” I asked, letting my hand rest against her neck, lightly, but with the promise of more.
“You were right, I see that now. This is exciting, it’s not what I’d thought it would be.”
“Neither are you, Donna,” I said, and leaned down, pressing my lips against her forehead. Her skin was warm there, and I rested like that for a moment before telling her to reach down and fish out the cubes.
“What?”
“You heard me. I want them. I’m gonna eat them.”
That seemed to be the most shocking thing I could’ve told her. I wanted to eat the melted ice cubes that were in her pussy. I would be tasting her by proxy, but she would have to touch herself to make it happen. “I’ll guard you,” I said, and shifted in such a way that she’d be hidden from full view. She didn’t protest anymore, just reached down and shifted enough so that she could retrieve the cubes, which were about half the size they’d been earlier. Water streamed down her hand and onto both of us. “Put them in my mouth,” I instructed her.
She did as commanded, our eyes meeting as her hand and the cubes entered my mouth. The truth was, I wanted to devour her: lick her all over, keep her naked in my apartment overnight, or, hell, for a week. But I let her fingers slip out, before taking them in my own and this time, settling a magazine across her lap and a blanket across mine, before delving into her panties with both our hands, mine atop hers. I steered her and guided her, letting her fingers show us both what felt good.
“I’ve never…”
“I know,” I assured her. This was a hell of a place to start, and as fluffy white clouds raced by our window, I taught my own sexy wild child how to masturbate: how to make herself come, how to touch her pussy in a way that could transcend any number of bouts of bad sex or heartache. I stayed with her as she trembled, turning her face into my shoulder and leaning toward me.
She asked for my number, but I didn’t give it to her. I didn’t want to totally tame her wildness, and I figured this was like that “if you give a man a fish…” saying. I had taught her what her body was good for; now it was up to her to go out and use it. That’s not to say it was easy to step off that plane and feel the culture shock of heading back to my real life, where wildness
was certainly in abundance, but never paired with such innocence. I let her use my sweater to wrap around her waist, where a big puddle sill remained.
I hope Donna learned a good lesson that will make her a better lover, to herself and others, someday. I learned that you’re never too old to learn new sex tricks, and that sometimes it’s the least likely strangers, on a plane even, who can show you a new side of yourself.
BERMUDA TRIANGLE
Vanessa Vaughn
J
ustin arrived at the hangar first. No surprise, really. He was always the eager one. Before he had uttered so much as “good morning,” he had his hands on my hips and had backed me up step by step until I was against the wall. As he held me there against the warm corrugated metal, kissing my neck, he asked if I wanted to go to our usual place.
He was a good student, the best. This was a boy who learned fast. He had grasped all the usual flight school lessons in the absolute minimum amount of time.
He was dressed in jeans today and a university T-shirt, good college sophomore that he was. He was a full head taller than I was. His hair was light brown, tinged with flecks of blond from the sun. I could see the smooth muscles of his tanned upper arms under his short sleeves. He held me firmly, looking down at my face.
“Not today. There’s no time,” I replied. “My other student will be here any minute.” He was grinding against me lightly
through his jeans. I could already feel myself getting wet.
“You scheduled someone else for the same time?” he asked, incredulous. “For today?”
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “There was no way around it.” That might not have been the truth, exactly. The scheduling hadn’t been so unavoidable, but he would never know the difference. I shrugged.
I could sense some frustration in his stance as he stood there. He was hungry for me and cocky, full of youthful energy. I stared back at him firmly. In a slow, even tone I asked him my three usual questions.
“Do you want me?”
He nodded, grinning.
I ran a fingernail lightly up the front of his chest. “Do you trust me?” I said.
“Yes,” he replied, as always, leaning a little closer.
“Are you going to do what I say?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
I tilted my head. “Well, then today you’re going to have to share your lesson. That’s all there is to it.”
Gently, he released my hips. With a sigh, he turned around to lean up against the wall next to me. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his hip pocket and shook them in my direction.
“Want one?” he asked.
“No. Are you crazy?”
He looked puzzled. I gestured around the building. “Jet fuel,” I reminded him. God, he was adorable. I leaned in to offer him a kiss. He drank it in, hands reaching up to hold the sides of my face. I hooked my thumbs into the band of his jeans. For a moment, I considered pulling them off, just canceling the lesson right then and there and letting him take me against the wall exactly like this.
The squeaks of a heavy metal door opening at the other end of the hangar brought us back to ourselves. We broke away from one another, adjusting our clothes. We heard footsteps crossing the concrete floor. A figure finally rounded the nearest plane and faced us.
The first thing that always struck me about Eric was his eyes, and I was sure Justin was noticing the same thing. They were the lightest blue, almost a gray color. The effect was striking against those jet black eyelashes and dark hair.
I wondered if he knew he was beautiful. I had told him before, but I wondered if he knew it inside, if he radiated this sexiness deliberately. Eric always loved to be flattered. He loved to be teased. He endured whole lessons with me that were nothing but temptation, revealing more and more and more of my skin, until finally I would give him what he really came to learn. He was always the pupil, always eager to please.
“Am I on time?” he asked. “The professor went a little over today.”
I assured him that he was.
I introduced the two of them, and they shook hands, chatting briefly about their majors and life at the university. All of their lessons so far at the flight school had been here on the ground. They each knew that today would be their first flight, but were surprised to learn that the other was in the same situation.
“So we’re both new to this, then?” Eric asked.
I nodded. Justin gave me a look, wondering what I could be up to.
I clapped my hands together once. “Well,” I said. “Looks like it’s time we got on our way.”
Preparations for the flight didn’t take long, really. I talked them through everything. That day, I had reserved one of the
largest single-engine Cessnas. It was a spacious four-seater. Most only had two.
I walked once around the plane with them, showing them what to check for. Eric ran his hand along its length as we strolled, caught up in the aesthetics of the machine, I guess; the clean lines. I only watched Eric, and smiled to myself as I caught Justin eyeing him too.
We grabbed three headsets off of the rack and headed to the plane with the keys. I tossed them to Eric. “You fly first,” I insisted. He nodded, climbing into the pilot’s seat. I took the copilot position beside him, with identical controls. Justin sat in one of the two rear seats. We put on our headsets and I motioned to Eric to start the plane.
It whirred to a start with an incredible noise, relaxing into a loud, mellow humming. The engine under us moved with the same sexy body-shaking vibration of a motorcycle, but at a higher pitch. It was a strange sensation because the headsets allowed us to feel the noise with our bodies more than we actually heard it.
I pointed out the appropriate dials and lights, going through the checklist with both of them. Justin crouched in the tight aisle between us, watching as we worked. At last we were ready. I signaled to Justin to have a seat and we all buckled ourselves in.
Takeoff was up to Eric, and he executed it perfectly. As we left the ground, he shot me a breathtaking smile from the pilot’s seat, reminding me how much I wanted to have him again. I reached out and stroked him tenderly on the cheek. He touched my thigh briefly in a warm familiar gesture. I wondered what Justin would make of our little exchange, and glanced back at him. He raised an amused eyebrow and grinned. “Good,” I thought. “At least no jealousy.”
“All right,” I explained through the headset, having to speak
up a little to be heard over the noise. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to take a simple course. Just a long easy arc out over the ocean.” I pulled out a chart, tracing some coordinates for them with my finger. “Should take about an hour give or take.”