The Mile High Club

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “Tell me what you need,” he whispered. “I want to get you off.”

  I trembled at his words. We might not have been in the most intimate of positions or locations, but his words were doing as much to get me off as his finger. I shifted, frustrated at the confines of my seat and the bad angle.

  “More, another finger,” I told him. “And keep talking to me.”

  Immediately, I felt him slide his index finger inside me along with his middle finger. I brushed my own fingertips against the back of his hand and down over his knuckles, wet with my desire. If there had been room, I would have added my finger to his two—to feel both of us inside me, surrounded by my wetness.

  “Better? Feel full?”

  I nodded.

  “Wish it was my cock inside you instead of my fingers?”

  I jerked up against his hand. “Yes,” I said with a whispered hiss. “Oh god, yes.”

  “Good. Think about my cock fucking you,” he said as he stroked me harder. “Think about it as you come on my fingers.”

  That was all it took. I clenched my thighs around his hand, a mental picture of his cock—which I had never even seen—driving into me. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, eyes closed so I could pretend we were alone as I rocked as little as possible against the fingers inside me.

  “I feel you,” he whispered. “You’re grabbing on to me. Your pussy is so wet, but you’re still clinging to me.”

  Max kept talking to me, whispering sexy, naughty things as my orgasm went on and on. It was as if my body, limited by our surroundings and position, was taking as long to finish coming as it had taken to get to orgasm. Softly panting, I relaxed my grip on Max’s wrist, realizing that I had been digging my nails into him the entire time.

  “Sorry,” I said, rubbing the indentations my nails had left behind. “I was kind of lost there for a minute.”

  He slowly withdrew his fingers, rubbing them over my pussy. “Don’t worry about it. That was amazing.”

  I shook my head. “You have no idea.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence punctuated by yet another flight attendant pass-by. This time, she looked pointedly at us. Her expression was neutral, but the wink gave her away.

  I sunk lower in my seat, mortified. “Oh hell, she knows.”

  “There’s still some of that good girl left in you,” Max said.

  I shifted in my seat, tugging my skirt down over my hips. I smiled wickedly at him as I slipped my hand into his lap and stroked his erection through his pants. The motion was so familiar I knew exactly how he would react. This time, though, I knew I wasn’t going to be content with a little groping and fantasizing.

  “I bet you could have me thoroughly corrupted by the time we leave London,” I said, giving his cock a little squeeze.

  By the time we made our descent into Heathrow, the butterflies in my stomach had nothing at all to do with flying.

  BERT AND BETTY

  Ryan Field

  At nine o’clock in the morning, the Philadelphia International Airport was fairly busy. The wide brown corridors were packed with people, there were long lines at the newsstands, and the food court was all lit up and ready to serve. All of the gates were admitting flights. Their signboards were filled and their rows of gray chairs occupied and noisy.

  But Betty Culp was far enough away from all this confusion, at the back end of the airport, to take a deep breath and inhale the freshly showered, spicy aroma of the guy standing in front of her. They were boarding a flight to Kearny, Nebraska, and there weren’t many people going there that day. She could see that most of the people on the flight were business travelers, and that they were all carrying briefcases, light and simple, to their destinations. And the guy in front of her, a young man in his early thirties, with short, dark hair and wide, solid shoulders, was rocking on the balls of his feet as he inched toward the gate with a black raincoat over his arm. He kept fidgeting with a thick, gold wedding band on his right hand as if it either hurt, or itched, his ring finger.

  When Betty discovered a few minutes later that the same awkward guy was seated right next to her, she lowered her head and sighed as she slipped past his stocky legs to claim her seat. He had the aisle, and she had the window. Why couldn’t he have been bald and fat? Why couldn’t they just seat her next to someone’s grandmother for once? The plane was almost empty; she could have had two seats to herself. Just when she swore that she was going to be good in the air, and that she wasn’t going to seduce one more guy on a commercial flight again, fate had placed her in another tempting situation.

  He wore a dark business suit, with a pale blue shirt and a yellow tie, but you could see his body was muscular and stocky: like a professional baseball player. He sat with his legs spread wide and his big feet crossed at the ankles; he was one of those steak and potatoes types, who looked a bit out of place in anything other than worn jeans and a T-shirt. Betty sat next to him and crossed her legs like a proper lady. She was wearing a short beige skirt that day, with fawn leather pumps and no stockings. It was August and her long, thin legs were tanned and smooth. She hardly ever bothered with underwear.

  They buckled their seat belts, and she noticed that his bulky hands gripped the arms of the seat with thick, long fingers. His skin was tanned, too, so his knuckles didn’t turn white, but he clenched tightly until the plane was finally in midair. She couldn’t help laughing when he took a deep breath after the captain announced that everyone could unbuckle their belts. “I guess you don’t fly often,” she said. “That was a pretty smooth takeoff.”

  He smiled and rubbed his strong chin. “Ah well, actually, I hate to fly. And I never do it unless it’s absolutely necessary. But I guess I’m going to have to get used to flying about once a month now. My ex-wife just moved back to Nebraska to be with her family, with my two kids, and I don’t have much of a choice.” His voice was deep and hoarse and he kept shaking his right knee up and down.

  She smiled. “Trust me, you’ll get used to it. I fly all the time.” When she smoothed her skirt she noticed that he stared at her legs for a moment. At least he was divorced, but she still wasn’t sure if he was remarried because of the wedding band.

  “Are the flights to Nebraska always this empty?” he asked. He looked around the plane and motioned with his left arm. The seats behind them and in front of them were empty, and there were two college-age boys sitting across from them in the middle row listening to their iPods. “This is almost like a private charter flight, when you think about it.”

  “You really never know,” Betty said. “Sometimes the flights are jammed, other times they are empty. That’s the one rule I’ve learned about flying: you never can predict anything.” And she was an expert, too. As the marketing director for a large chemical company, Betty had flown the world by the time she was thirty years old. She’d also blown half the world, too. She discovered early in her career that men who travel a lot by plane are usually walking around the airports with semi-erections in their Brooks Brothers slacks.

  “I’m Bert,” he said, and then extended his right hand.

  She reached for it, and smiled. “I’m Betty. Nice to meet you.” When she softly squeezed his hand, their eyes met; he stared for a moment and then jerked his head and smiled. And that’s when she secretly predicted she would be able to get into his pants before the flight was over.

  Bert began to tell her the story of his bad marriage, while she folded her arms across her chest and pretended to be interested. When he told her about how his ex-wife suddenly announced one afternoon that she was bored and needed to explore her “inner self,” Betty sighed, but she was staring at the rough stubble on his jaw and wondering what it would be like to rub her soft boobs against it. And when he told her that his ex-wife decided to take a cooking class so she could learn how to make pumpkin ravioli and broaden her horizons, Betty just shook her head and frowned. She was really concentrating on Bert’s large fingers and wondering if his penis was just as lar
ge. He said his ex-wife was a fan of the television show “The Office,” and that she actually decided to leave him on the night he went to bed early and refused to watch the season finale with her. He pressed his hands on his knees, and asked, “How do you like that? She left because I didn’t stay up to watch the season finale of ‘The Office’…and I was freaking tired that night!”

  “Ah well, there you are,” Betty said. “I guess some women want the world.” She pushed a strand of long blonde hair away from her face and smiled. But she was really wondering what kind of dumb bitch would force her poor husband to watch a TV show like “The Office.” She’d watched it once or twice; she hated it.

  Bert lifted his right hand and waved it. “And now I can’t even get this damn ring off my finger. I’ll have to have it cut off eventually. We were married for ten years and I gained about twenty pounds since the wedding.”

  “Well, there you are. What with all that pumpkin ravioli that’s understandable,” Betty said. “But I think you look fine; very athletic and strong.” She reached over and gently squeezed his bicep.

  But he missed the compliment. “Oh, please. She couldn’t cook to save her own life. She only took cooking courses…there’s a difference.” He stretched his wide legs forward and leaned his head on the back of the seat. “I’m going to try to get some sleep; besides, I’ve been boring you long enough. No one likes to hear ex-wife stories, and I don’t normally tell them.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Betty said, “I’m happy to have the conversation.” She was always amazed at how some men never got the subtlest of hints. There she was, practically licking her lips to get a taste of what he had between his legs, and all he cared about was a nap. So she reached down to her lap for her purse and purposely spilled the contents between Bert’s legs. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m such a mess.”

  Bert smiled, but when he looked down between his legs his eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped. Beside her lip gloss and bronzer, just next to her small makeup mirror, he saw a small red dildo. You couldn’t miss it: a rubbery latex penis, about five inches long, leaning against his testicles.

  Betty pressed her hand to her throat. “Sorry…it’s my secret travel companion, is all.” Then she reached between his legs and started to fish for the contents of her purse. She gathered her makeup, and purposely rubbed the side of her hand against the inside of Bert’s thigh. When she reached for the red dildo, he jerked because she took a handful of his balls instead. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Ah well…” he said. His eyes were closed by then, and he started to wiggle his legs.

  She began to massage his testicles; they were large and filled her hand. “Why don’t you just sit back and relax for a while? I’m not usually this forward with strange men, but you are so attractive,” she said. But it was a bold lie. She’d done this before, with many guys, either in an airport or on a plane.

  Bert’s eyes were rolling and his mouth was half open. “Is this okay? I mean, we could get in trouble for this.” But he didn’t look up to see if anyone was watching them while she stroked his balls in public.

  “The plane is empty,” she whispered. “No one is watching. Just close your eyes, handsome.”

  The higher her hand went, the harder his penis became. She looked up for a moment to see if anyone could see her groping between his legs. The flight attendants were sitting way up front, and everyone else seemed to be minding his or her own business. But when she licked her bottom lip and began to unzip his slacks, she looked across to the next row of seats and saw that one of the young men who had been listening to music earlier was now watching every move she made. He had reddish blond hair, fair white skin, and a cute little pug nose. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. They stared at each other for a moment, and then he smiled, spread his long legs and rubbed his own crotch. Betty winked at him, and then she told Bert to close his eyes and relax. This was an interesting state of affairs; she’d never had an audience while she sucked a guy off on a plane.

  When Bert’s zipper was down, Betty slowly reached inside his boxer shorts and grabbed his dick. It was completely erect by then, and it pulsed and jumped when she wrapped her palm around the shaft. She pulled it out of his pants carefully, but Bert opened his eyes and looked toward the front of the plane. “I don’t know about this,” he said. “We could get into trouble.” Then he looked across the row to see what the two young guys were doing. Both had their eyes closed and were still listening to their iPods.

  “Just close your eyes,” she said. “It won’t take long. You know you want it.”

  She leaned toward him and gently jerked his cock a few times; she placed the tip of her thumb against the base of his dickhead and rubbed the soft skin. There was precome already beginning to ooze from the opening. Oh, she knew it wouldn’t take too long with this one. The poor guy probably hadn’t had good head in years. And if he was so worried about having sex in public, he clearly could have stopped her from continuing.

  Bert closed his eyes again and leaned back; he bucked his hips forward so that his dick was standing up, out of his pants. It was thick, and if you wrapped your hand around the base there would still have been four inches showing through the top. “You promise you’ll keep looking to see that we don’t get caught,” he said, but his eyes were still closed.

  “Yes, I promise,” she said. But when she looked across the row, the young college guy was staring at them again. This time, his blue eyes were glazed and he was jerking his own dick. She smiled at him, opened her mouth, and then went down on Bert’s cock while the stranger watched.

  She took the dick to the back of her throat; her lips went all the way down to the fabric of his white boxer shorts. His crotch smelled like fresh soap, but there was still a hint of that watered down oil and vinegar stench of a man’s sweaty balls. She inhaled deeply through her nose; this was her favorite men’s cologne. The young guy across the row licked his palm and wrapped it around his own large erection and slowly began to masturbate. She pressed her tongue against the bottom side of Bert’s dick and began to suck. Her cheekbones indented and her lips grew puffy. When she looked up, with a mouthful of cock, to see what the young guy was doing, her eyes opened wider, and then she blinked. The redheaded one who had been masturbating was still watching her suck Bert’s dick, but the other guy who had been sleeping was now sucking the redhead off. The other guy had dark brown hair, and his eyes were light brown. When Betty’s eyes met the eyes of the other cocksucker, he lifted his hand and slowly waved his fingers. She pressed her tongue hard against Bert’s shaft and smiled back.

  She went all the way down to the base of Bert’s dick again and began to suck and slurp, pressing her lips together when she reached the head so it would feel more like a hand job than a blow job. Her head bobbed and saliva dripped down her chin. Every so often, when she swallowed, she tasted Bert’s salty precome. The dark-haired guy who was sucking off his friend in the opposite row mimicked everything she did. When Betty’s head bobbed up and down quickly, so did his; when Betty’s cheeks indented, so did his; and when Betty let it pop out of her mouth so she could lick the head, so did he. The red-haired guy who was getting sucked off, and watching Betty suck Bert off, rested his head back on the seat. He stared at Bert’s wide dick; his tongue hung out, he bucked his hips and pressed his palm on the back of the dark-haired guy’s head.

  When the pilot suddenly announced they were heading toward some rough turbulence and that everyone should buckle their seat belts, Betty slid Bert’s cock halfway out of her mouth and wrapped her right hand around the base. Bert moaned, “Oh yeah, that’s it,” while she sucked the head of his dick and jerked him off at the same time. She looked across the row; the other cocksucker was now sucking the head and jerking the shaft of his buddy, too. The dark-haired guy nodded yes, to let her know that his red-haired buddy was about to blow a load, and she began to work harder on Bert’s dick, as if she were in a cock-sucking contest and someone would r
eceive a prize.

  With her lips wrapped around the top of Bert’s dick, her hand worked faster. A moment later Bert was ready to release, and he spread his legs even wider so that one knee was almost out in the aisle. He gripped the arms of his seat and his body went rigid. When he squinted and furrowed his eyebrows, Betty knew his toes were curling inside his black shoes. But more than that, just as Bert was about to orgasm, she looked across the row and the dark-haired guy nodded again. Her broad eyes met his, and then both Bert and the red-haired guy came at the exact same time. Bert shot a load of cream all the way to the back of her throat; she gulped and swallowed. The dark-haired young guy was sucking and swallowing the last ounce from his buddy’s dick, too. Betty and the dark-haired guy continued to stare at each other, as if they were watching their own reflections, and went all the way down on their partners’ dicks at the same time to make sure they didn’t waste a drop of come.

  The plane jerked back and forth for a moment, but not much. Betty lifted her head and touched the corners of her mouth with her fingertips to be sure nothing was dripping. While she reached down into her purse for a small mirror, Bert shoved his cock back into his pants and adjusted his legs.

  “Ah well,” he said. Then he looked around the plane to see if anyone was watching them. The flight attendants were nowhere to be seen, the red-haired guy in the next row was still sleeping, and the dark-haired guy was wiping his chin with a white tissue. Bert smiled at him and waved; the thought of actually receiving a blow job in public, by a great-looking woman, made his heart beat faster.

  When Betty looked into the mirror, her lips were puffy. She applied more lip gloss and said, “I guess it’s only light turbulence.” What else could she say? Thanks for letting me suck your dick; it was my pleasure. And the two gay guys in the row across from us really enjoyed watching me suck your dick, too. She knew it was best to get right back to normal, as if none of this had ever happened, which was fine with her.