Twisted Vagabondage Tale From An Airplane

All Aboard If You're Coming

You’re pissed off, I can tell. But then you’re always tense when we travel. I don’t know why—I do most of the work. (I suspect fear of flying, though I know better than to ever suggest that.) You’re normally so easy-going, but as soon as you get on an airplane, every little thing sets you off. No business class upgrades are available. Our seats are too close to the video screen. You’ve already seen both of the movies. Someone did half the crossword puzzle in the in-flight magazine. They don’t have your favorite soft drink. They don’t give out peanuts or pretzels anymore. First the cabin was too hot. Now it’s too cold.

“It is, it’s freezing,” you insist. Okay, it’s a bit cold—I can see your nipples hard beneath the thin sundress you insisted on wearing because you said the plane would be too hot. I’m so glad you didn’t wear a bra, which you claim you don’t need because your breasts are small and firm. Works for me. Your pert nipples are like two little mountain peaks, with buttons of your dress running down the middle, all the way down. I can’t resist looking down, too, as far as I can, till the buttons run off the cliff of your knees.

Requesting Cockpit Access

No problem, darling. Let me get you a blanket. Here, have mine, too. I spread the blankets over you, one draped over your legs, the other over your chest and lap. I watch you try to distract yourself with the magazine you brought, resting it awkwardly on your lowered seat tray table and turning the pages with an audible flick. I had suggested one of those chick lit books you relax with in the tub, but you insisted on a news magazine. Trying to look intellectual, in case someone is watching you? Not surprisingly, it doesn’t relax you. You begin arguing with an article on health care, then the coverage of some political issue irritates you. I love you, darling, I do, but sometimes you just need to shut up and stop thinking.

Perhaps I can help with that.

I nudge your arm off the armrest and raise it. “What are you doing?” you snap at me. “Helping you get warmer,” I reply, as I sidle up closer. My leg lies against yours. Can you feel the warmth? You continue to read. I turn my head and kiss your shoulder. You give one of those short sharp sighs, like you do when you’re annoyed, but you don’t move away. I kiss you lightly again and reach over with my hand to rub your arm. Still no protests, so I slip my hand under the blanket and run the flats of my fingers very lightly over your nipple—which I find to my delight is still stiff.

Blow Only For Emergencies

“Hey, cut it out,” you whisper sharply. I give your nipple a pinch and a slight twist in response. You force my arm off your body with your elbow. Fine. Have it your way. I let my hand drop to your lap. You give me a suspicious sideways glance, but I just let it rest there. See? I’m not doing anything. I’m completely innocent. I sit there for a while, just drinking in the sight of you, smelling your sweet perfume. You’re so beautiful. So enticing. Who could resist?

After a while, I spread my fingers on your leg a bit. Then spread just a little more. Then, ever so slowly, I let them slide over, closer to your center. Of course you notice. “What do you think you’re doing?” you ask. You still sound mad. I lean in, till my mouth is right by your ear. “I’m stroking your luscious thigh,” I murmur. Which should be pretty obvious, but I like saying it—and I know you like hearing it. At least, you usually do. “Now I’m squeezing your thigh,” I say, matching actions to words, “and I’m moving my fingers closer ...” I’ve reached the center line, the row of buttons. Aha. I begin undoing them.

“Are you out of your mind? Stop it!”

“No one can see a thing, baby. You’ve got the blanket over you. And the tray table. No one’s paying attention. No one can see me running my hand over your leg ... You know I’m going to touch you, baby, I’m going to keep touching you, I’m going to rub you right between your legs, keep rubbing you until you squirm in your seat….”

Nuts Are Complementary

“We’re on an airplane. There are people all around us. You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you … and I bet you’re crazy for me.” I’ve undone enough buttons to slip my hand inside your dress, and I press my hand down firmly on top of your mound, and then move just a little lower.

Your legs squeeze shut. “I’m not kidding, cut it out.”

“OK, baby, I’ll make a deal. Let me slip a finger, just one little finger inside your panties. If you’re not wet, I promise I’ll stop. I’ll stop immediately and I’ll leave you alone. But if you are wet, we both know what that means.” As I’m talking, I keep pressing the top of your mound with my fingers, down on to you and then back off, and down again. With a little wiggling I manage to get the tip of my finger at the base of your clit, and I rub it slightly, back and forth.

You don’t say a word, and I know why. You’re afraid of what I’ll find.

I trace the elastic outline of your panties with my finger. You’re still squeezing your thighs together, but I’m a pretty determined guy, and I work my finger in, right onto your sweet lips, and then …

May I Return To Your Seat?

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” I say, as my finger slips easily between your folds. “You’re wet, baby, you’re soaking.” I make small circles over the very top of your button. “I think you want this, don’t you?” Silence. “Don’t you?” Silence. I press a little more firmly. “If you really want me to stop, baby, I will. But you don’t want me to stop, do you?” To test you, I pull my hand away slightly, and I’m rewarded by the sudden clutch of your hand on my arm, holding it there. I have to chuckle. I know you, darling. I know you so well.

I reach over your body with my other arm, press the seat recline button, and with the weight of my body against yours, push your seat back as far as it will go—which in this service class isn’t very far, of course. But it does give me a few more inches of access. I arrange the blankets over you again, sure the folds and rumples hide any motion of my hand inside your dress, under your panties. You close your eyes.

“No, keep them open,” I command. “I want you to see what’s going on. Look at everyone around you, reading their books or listening to their music. They have no idea what I’m doing to you, do they? They don’t know that I’m fingering your clit, that I have my hand buried in your sopping pussy, that I’m going to finger you until you cum all over me.” While I’m talking I can see you getting more turned on. Your face is flushed, your lips are parted, and I can see your breasts heaving when you breathe. Oh, so delectable. I check to make sure that no one is looking at us (not that you’d stop me at this point, but now I must have a level head, even though I’m so turned on to see you like this), and I bend down to your breast. Through the blanket and your thin dress I can still feel your erect nipple, and I take it in my teeth. My cock is straining against my pants.

Happy Landing Guaranteed

You’re getting closer, but you’re still obedient—your eyes are open. Good girl. Let’s test you, shall we? I reach up with my free hand and press the flight attendant call button, making sure that I leave my finger on the button long enough for you to see me. You look alarmed. Fortunately you’re not able to talk so easily anymore, and I rub you just a little harder and faster to keep you that way.

What luck–here comes the flight attendant already. “Can I help you, sir?” she asks pleasantly.

“Yes, I was wondering if I could get a glass of ginger ale. I know it’s not quite the right time, but….” I give her my most winning smile, and it works like a charm.

“Certainly, sir, that’s no problem. How about for you, ma’am?”

You flash me a look that says you’d like me to order for you or just send her away, or … well, I’m not a mind reader, am I? You’ll have to talk to her yourself.

Love Is In The Air

“Did you want a drink, honey?” I prompt you, helpfully, all the while continuing to finger you between your legs. The flight attendant and I both look at you expectantly.

“No thanks, I’m fine,” you manage.

“Are you sure?” She seems concerned—maybe because you seem a bit breathless. You’re red in the face, too, frankly.

“Fine,” you gasp, and she moves off.

I’ve never felt you wetter. I can easily slip several fingers inside you now, and so I do—two, then three. You arch back, your chin up in the air. That feels good, does it, darling? I find a rhythm, fucking you forcefully with my fingers while my thumb rubs your clit.

Post-thrust Afterburn

I consider trying to hold you off till the flight attendant comes back. Could I make you cum in front of her? Would you like that? God, that would be so hot. I’d love to see you try to maintain composure while I brought you to orgasm with someone watching you. If it was possible for me to get any stiffer than I already am, that thought would do it. Who knows how long she’ll take, though, and it doesn’t look like you’ll take much longer.

“Put your hand on my dick,” I whisper into your ear, and you do—it’s not hard to find me, as I’m practically bursting out of my pants. There’s no blanket over me, but frankly, I don’t care. You rub your thumb over the head of my cock while I continue to fuck you with my hand. I know you’re close, because you’re panting now, not even trying to hide it. Incredibly, no one looks at us—but then why would they? They’re focused on screens or pages or are trying to nap. We’re only a few feet away, but no one has the slightest clue what is going on.

I lean in and bite your neck. “Spread your legs,” I say, and you do, the few more inches that you’re able to. I fuck you harder in return, and as much as the cramped seat will allow. You grind back onto my hand.

“You’re going to cum for me now, aren’t you, baby,” I whisper, “Right here on this plane, with people all around you … do you think they know? Do they suspect that my hand is up inside you? Are they imagining what it feels like for you to have me rubbing your clit? Do you think that flight attendant could guess how wet you are? Can anyone see your hand rubbing my cock? You’re such a dirty girl.” And then I feel you pulse and contract around my fingers as your body does its jerking dance. The flight is smooth, but you have your own in-flight turbulence coursing through you, don’t you? I leave my hand in you until you finally stop moving and lie back.

Thanks For Flying With Us

And here’s the flight attendant with the drink, which she places on your tray table and moves off, barely looking at us. You seem to have forgotten whose drink it is, but I don’t mind. Go ahead. Help yourself, darling. You look so relaxed now, and what a lovely smile.

“Thank you.”

You’re welcome.

Sharazade authors Twisted Vagabondage Tales for travelers who like it rough. She is prettier than Vagabonding author Rolf Potts (though Rolf is very pretty) and could kick his ass (though only if he'd like that). Her new book called Transported: Erotic Travel Tales is published by Fanny Press.

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