It was a Saturday. Just another sunny day in California. Except it was also St. Patrick’s day. And the day I was flying back home.
The unusually small airport was a drastic contrast to LAX and DFW, the two hubs that I’d encountered from home to here. I always arrived at least an hour ahead of the flight schedule, but with the combination of an early check out at the hotel, and a flight delay, I was hours from departure. With nothing left to do, I made my way to the lonely bar.
Of the seven stools in front of the bar, only two were occupied. That couple made up approximately 40% of the patronage even though this was the only food and drink establishment in the entire airport. Reluctantly, I took a seat at the bar. Thank heavens it was March 17, because I intended to be tipsy by two pm.
The bartender wasn’t much for conversation. His intelligence would have been easily overcome by any 8 year old, and I was bored. A noise to my right stole my attention and I was delighted to see a very attractive man take the seat next to me. Alas, the fun would finally begin.
We chatted about nothing, sharing random pleasantries and wasting time. He picked up the tab, ordered us a few more drinks and the conversation grew more interesting. After being cooped up in the hotel for most of my trip thanks to business and the unfortunate rainfall that never seemed to end, I was feeling frisky.
Innuendos began spurting from my lips as the vodka slid down my throat. Suggestions were made. I watched as the silver wedding band on his left hand went from being prominently displayed, to being surreptitiously hidden. His attention was growing, as well as another part of him…
Toying with his sexual anxiety was making me wetter by the minute. His eyes roamed my body, taking in the curve of my hips which was no secret under my fitted jeans. He made no attempt to hide his delight when he noticed my full breasts rising and falling under thin, emerald green lace. My thin jacket had fallen open to reveal far more than was appropriate for the middle of the day, but I had only my aching pussy and the vodka to blame.
Moments after our mutual attraction was clear, we discovered we were waiting on the same plane for a 20 minute jaunt to LAX to catch our connecting flights. It was about to leave, at last, and we gathered our things.
When I stood, the realization of just how wet and horny I’d become was suddenly very evident. As was his situation. He offered his arm and together we walked to the waiting area. In the moments away from the prying ears of the bartender or the other patrons, moral proprieties were forgotten. I made my needs explicitly clear, and told him exactly how badly I wanted to slide him into my mouth and feel him throbbing between my lips. He told me how my breasts needed to be bare, held captive by his hands, and how he wanted to slide my jeans down and expose the ample ass I had been hiding on the barstool.
In the waiting area, we were as affectionate as any two young lovers. He found several excuses to brush against my body. I found every excuse to let him, and even helped provide a few opportunities.
I asked him if he’d ever had sex on a plane. He said no. I doubted we’d have the time on our mini-excursion, but the fantasy drove me wild.
Once we had boarded, all inhibitions had faded. As luck would have it, our assigned seats were side by side. Since we were the only two on our row, we took advantage of the chance to explore each other a bit more through touch.
As the plane began its ascent, I reached between his legs to discover his pulsing, large cock had been doing some ascending as well. I rubbed it and moaned softly in his ear. I wanted so badly for him to take me.
He put his arm around me and did some fondling of his own. I felt his hand slide over my hips and I begged him to feel how wet he’d made me. Our bodies were positioned strategically, but no amount of shifting could allow him to feel my wetness without an audience. Frustrated, he reached between my legs anyway and felt the heat of my cunt emanating through my jeans. The amount of moisture made the sensation only more intense and I couldn’t stop the groans.
We kissed and I nibbled his ear. He kissed my neck and I thought I’d straddle him right there. Instead, he held back and whispered his naughty needs in my ear while using the seam of my jeans as well as just the right amount of pressure to bring me to orgasm right there.
I rubbed the solid bulge of his cock as he worked me. My breathing told him I was close. My kisses became desperate. I needed him inside me. I could feel him so close to bursting right there next to me. I almost wanted him to, but didn’t want to create an embarrassing situation for him later.
Just before we landed in LAX, he found just the right spot. My clit swelled under his fingers, stifled by the tight jeans. I clenched my hand around his arm and with the other I wrapped my hand as much as I could around his cock and stroked him. I felt it take over me like a whirlwind. Right there, descending into Los Angeles, fully clothed, and thanks to a handsome, married stranger whom I’d never met, I came. The hand that still bore that shiny silver band had worked its mysterious magic on me, unabated by my unfriendly wardrobe. I so desperately wanted to return the favor, but time wouldn’t allow. We were headed to opposite ends of the nation and his next flight would leave moments after landing.
I gave him my number and we made watery promises to meet again soon, but we both knew the chances would be highly unlikely. Still, I hated to see him go. The orgasm on the plane only made my need even stronger, and I had no hope of relief. I walked him to his departure gate and waved a strangely sad goodbye. Luck is a cruel bitch.