Flying the Friendly Skies

[[NOTE: Thanks to all who are stopping by via links from eLust! I hope you like what you see here.]]

My job requires me to travel quite a bit, so I've gotten very familiar indeed with the routines and patterns of airline flight. I know which airlines charge the least for baggage, which ones are the most likely to depart on time, which ones still actually offer snacks during flight, and which ones (in my experience) have the prettiest flight attendants.

That last is something I can't help noticing. Being a typical guy, I'm always keeping an eye out for beauty in all its female forms, and so when I sit down in first class I get a pretty good look at the flight attendants when they go strolling by on those lovely legs. And I make mental notes about which ones are the prettiest, and compose little fantasies about the most attractive of 'em, and shake my head at my own folly.

Just lately I've been flying Continental a lot. I don't know what their flightcrew schedules are overall -- that, like everything else in the airline world, depends largely upon seniority -- but at least one of the crews must have a schedule similar to the one that's been sending me from city to city of late, because recently I actually saw the same flight attendant on more than one of my flights. Once on a flight from Columbus to Detroit; once on a Los Angeles - Boston hop; and finally on a long overseas jaunt from Atlanta to London.

That had never happened to me before and it would have been enough for me to take notice even if she hadn't been outside the usual norm for flight attendants. To start with, she was tiny -- just shy of five feet tall, if I'm any judge. She wore a scarf loosely around her throat, a sweater/skirt combination, and knee-high boots. More to the point, she didn't have the crisp perfection in her appearance that so many flight crews do. One button on her sweater was undone, there was a rip in her hose, scratches on her boots, and her hair was carelessly pinned back with stray wisps of hair escaping. There was a curious flavor of soiling about her, something a bit dirty and unkempt.

This normally turns me off (I like my women to take pride in themselves) but something about this woman captured my attention. She seemed completely unaware of my gaze, going about her tasks with a kind of indolence that reflected her appearance. But she was obviously very familiar with her body and its uses; she moved with lazy hipshot grace, no wasted energy, her movements close and economical. It struck me that she was a bit like the lions you see at the zoo. They may appear bored and indifferent, and lie happily in the dust of their enclosures, but they could by-God tear your head off if it ever struck them to do so.

Anyhow, on the third flight I finally struck up a conversation with her. Her name, it turned out, was Amanda, and conversationally I found little to change my initial opinion of her. Not terribly smart, not particularly interested in endearing herself to me, just passing the time, really, as the hours wound by. We'd pass a couple of minutes when she passed by, and then she'd beg off (flight attendants on 747s do, after all, have a lot of passengers to watch over). I'd watch her ass working prettily under that skirt, sturdy legs in those knee-high boots clocking down the aisle, and shake my head a bit at the waste.

The hour was growing late and most of the other passengers had dropped off to sleep. I, on the other hand, have trouble sleeping even in spacious first-class seats, so I was idly paging through a book, not really getting much from it, and wishing for something to relieve the boredom. At that, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Amanda.

" 'Scuse me," she said, wiping a hand on her skirt and leaving a smudge. "I hate to ask you this, but you've been nice to me, so I thought, well, it can't hurt...."

She trailed off, staring at me. I raised an eyebrow. "Ask me what?"

"Well, I'm having some trouble with this gadget in one of the bathrooms. It's s'posed to help the air circulate but it's giving me this funny smell, like something's frying."

"Frying? And you haven't told the pilots?"

"Yeah, I did, keep your shirt on. They said their systems don't detect anything wrong back there. Asked me to take a look, and I did, but I can't see nothing wrong. You look good with your hands -- could you maybe take a look and see if you see anything?"

I sighed, a bit annoyed. Even in my spare time it seemed people were coming to me for tech support. "Good with my hands, okay. Yeah, sure, I'll see what I can do."

I followed her past the rows of dead-to-the-world passengers, past the galley to the restroom on the left side. "This is the one?" I inquired, and she nodded. I knocked -- no one inside -- and opened up. Nothing remarkable that I could see, so I stepped inside, and she followed me in. Before I could raise an eyebrow at that, she had closed the door and locked it.

A 747 has a bigger bathroom than, say, a small regional jet, but they still aren't all that big. There wasn't a lot of room and she was in pretty close quarters with me. I opened my mouth to say something -- what, I'm not sure -- and she put a finger against my lips. "I saw the way you were lookin at me," she said. "If we gotta talk about it, it's no good. I guess you know there isn't any problem here in the bathroom, other than the one I've got."

Dry-mouthed, I managed to croak out, "And what problem is that, pray tell?"

She gave a little laugh and her hands began going to work on my shirt, unbuttoning it swiftly. "God, can't you tell? I haven't been fucked in almost a day. I'm so horny I can't stand it."

She stopped briefly in the act of opening my fly. "You can do something about that, right? I mean, you think I'm hot, right?"

"Hot" maybe wasn't the right word, I thought as I stared at her. This little minx wasn't at all my kind of woman. But suddenly I wanted to grab at this one. I wanted to get my hands dirty, to press against that body and see if it was as ripe and soft as the bulging sweater and straining skirt made it look. Wanted to grab hold and spread her, to take her bending over the sink. Fuck, yes, I could do something about her problem.

And so I answered by yanking her sweater and shirt up to her neck. Another woman might have cooed with delight, or giggled; she did neither, simply nodding her head, her hands going back to work on my fly. She wriggled a bit against me, probably with the idea of getting me up, but stopped that as she realized I was already quite ready. She began stroking me and made a small sound of approval, then with a practiced motion, dropped my slacks around my ankles. She leaned forward and without any preliminaries began running her tongue along the ridge in my boxer briefs. I groaned a bit, and wound my fingers into her curly hair. My other hand roamed down her back till it found the clasp on her bra, and fumbled there a moment before I wrestled that free and her tits spilled out into my hands.

Oh, delightful. Warm and soft, surprisingly big for her little size. She had enormous cherry-red nipples which I delighted in flicking with my thumbs. She liked that, and pressed them harder against my clutching hands, moaning, as she kept stroking my cock. Without warning she darted a hand inside my briefs to grasp and fondle me. Talented fingers, fitting themselves to me, curving along my length and drawing me free, the other hand slipping my briefs down to my ankles to join my puddled slacks.

She stroked me a bit more and I leaned back, enjoying the attention, still fondling her breasts, rubbing the nipples in circular motions with my palms, licking a finger to draw circles around the aureoles, rubbing them against my shirt. She sighed. "Knew you were the one to take care of this," she said, and leaned forward, pressing her tits against me, nibbling on my neck, licking and sucking.

Since I couldn't fondle her tits with her pressed against me like this, I chose to grab her ass and work that tight skirt up to her waist. I had to do some creative rearranging -- she really was about a size too large for a skirt this small -- but finally I had the globes of her ass in double handfuls. Warm, yielding flesh met my questing grasp. She may have been wearing stockings, but they weren't pantyhose, because there was nothing under that skirt but her.

She giggled at my look of shock. "Isn't company regulations," she said, and went back to licking my throat, her hands still stroking my cock deftly, surely. "But I don't think you mind much, do ya?"

"No indeed," I murmured. I worked one hand around to the front and found another surprise. She was shaved as smooth as a marble table. I do like a woman who shaves, or at least trims neatly. There's less interference with tangling and it's easier to slip inside, as I did now. My fingers found wetness and heat beyond compare -- fuck me, she hadn't been lying about being horny and ready to go -- and abruptly I lost my remaining grasp on propriety and decorum.

Spinning her around, I bent her over the sink. She assumed the position without a word of complaint, waggling her ass at me. "Oooo," she said now in a little-girl voice. "You going to give me what I need?" She reached back to finger herself, her other hand caressing her hanging tits. "God, I'm so ready. Come on, man, show me what you've got."

Well, far be it from me to deny a lady what she wants. I dropped one hand on her ass, squeezing, lifting, grasping tightly. I fought one foot free of my piled clothes and used it to knock her legs further apart. Stepping closer, I probed with my cock between her legs, rubbing against her slit. More wetness splashed over me and I moaned, a guttural sound. I lifted her and spread her more, pressing upward, pressing inward.

Tight. God damn, she was tight. I could barely fight my head past the gripping suction of her lips. She was wetter than a Slip-and-Slide and it was a good thing, because as I pushed forward she enveloped me like a custom-made driving glove. I had to fight for every inch, wriggling and pushing, she emitting small moans of delight, until I finally bottomed out inside her. I stopped a moment, feeling her clenching around me. I reached around with both hands, grabbing her tits, fondling and squeezing. She waggled that ass against me again and I felt rippling walls of suction around my cock. God, it felt incredible.

I pulled back a little bit and I clearly heard wet sucking sounds as her cunt released me oh-so-slowly. Now that she had me, she obviously didn't want to let me go. Well, that was fine with me. I drew back a bit more, marveling at the sight of my cock emerging from her tight tunnel, coated with her shiny excitement, red with my own heat. Then I pressed home again, not thrusting exactly but sort of undulating my cock forward and in again. She threw back her head and gasped "Oh, fuck me, that's good," and I couldn't agree more.

A few more in-and-outs and she had either gotten wetter still or her cunt had found a different way of accomodating me. I was now sliding effortlessly in and out; she was still tight as hell, still gripping me fiercely, but it wasn't a struggle to thrust forward any more. No, her pussy was now taking everything I had to offer, begging for more, welcoming each invasive strike. Letting go of her tits (her nipples were so hard now they could have cut glass) and grabbing her ass, I started using it as a fulcrum, rocking and grinding deeper into her with each thrust, really starting to pound her in earnest now. The gentle smack of flesh on flesh as my balls slapped against her wet cunt, the gasps and moans from her that were now ratcheting up in intensity, the ringing clap as my hand fell on her ass -- these were music to my ears.

And to hers. Her mouth was open again, spilling a stream of obscenities. In a candy-sweet voice she begged me to fuck her harder, to do her like the naughty girl she was, to pound her little pussy till she was too sore to walk. "Do you like it? Do you like my little pussy?" she gasped. "Do you like the way your flight attendant's taking your big cock up her tight little cunt?" Moaning, she threw her head back again. "Oh yeah, pound me good, baby." With every thrust I made into her she pushed back harder, moaning even louder.

I put a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. I could feel her giggling but she stifled her moans a bit, though her body was still busy as hell, swaying and grinding against my crotch, getting my dick as deep into her as she could. I felt her shiver and tense and suddenly there was a pattering sound and I felt warmth running down my legs. Apparently she was a squirter. I felt her cunt clutching me even harder, massaging my cock expertly, and I leaned forward, pressing her down on the sink, battering into her. I felt my balls boiling and growled low into her ear, "Dirty girl indeed. How many guys have you done this to? How many strangers have you fucked in the bathroom like this?"

"Dozens," she gasped through my hand. "Anyone who's willing. I can't help it. I gotta have it regular-like, or I'll go outta my mind." She felt me twitch and a low laugh escaped past my fingers. "Ooo, that turns you on, doesn't it? You like pounding your little flight attendant slut."

Damn it, she was right. That soiled, unkempt feeling was back and stronger than ever, but I didn't care. I was embracing it. Rolling in the dirt with her, getting filthy with her sweat and her juices, fucking this total stranger in the bathroom of a 747 while outside any passengers who were still awake could have no doubt what was going on from all the thumping and rocking and squealing. Well, so be it. All I knew was that her cunt was so tight and hot and wet, her body so lush and active, that I was going to shoot off very soon now. I brought my hand down in a sharp slap on her ass, the crack echoing, and she howled delight past my still-restraining other hand. She raised a leg and propped it against the wall, giving me more access, spreading herself further as I plundered and plowed her. Her exhortations had now become a steady low chant: "yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes" as I thrust harder and harder into her.

Grunting and gasping, I grabbed her ass with both hands and clutched it hard enough to leave bruises as I spent myself like a shooting star, hosing her pussy down with what felt like a gallon of cum. I thrust as far into her as I could, lifting her all the way off the ground. She spread her hands to brace herself, now laughing loudly, openly, as I struggled to catch my breath and let her sag back downward, still impaled on my softening cock.

She lifted up and off of me and turned to face me, our mingled fluids now positively pouring down her legs. "Oh yeah," she sighed happily. "I needed that." She leaned back against the sink, spreading her legs, letting her head fall back on her shoulders, her throat working as her pulse hammered its way down into a reasonable range again.

Just looking at her was enough to arrest my softening. God, she was a stunning sight. Sweater and skirt still yanked up, skin shining with sweat, her tits capped with nipples that were still rock hard. Her cunt shone like a promise as she idly reached a hand down to play with her clit some more. She shuddered and moaned again, deep in her throat.

I couldn't stand it. I had to have her again. I grabbed her by the ass and lifted her up, tightening my PC muscles to get my cock pointing in just the right direction. She had time only for a surprised "What..." before I drove up and into her again, and her mouth went wide with shock and pleasure. Muttering "aw yeah, aw yeah, aw yeahh" in time with my strokes, she wrapped both legs around my ass and hung on as I started to pound her again, not caring who she'd been with, not caring if we were heard anymore, only reaching for that filth, embracing it, getting dirty with this slut of a flight attendant who was so very fucking horny that she couldn't do without it.

Maybe I wasn't Mr. Right, I thought hazily as I banged her against the wall, her shrieks ringing in my ears, my legs burning, my cock as hard as it had ever been. But damn if it wasn't pretty fucking good to be Mr. Right Now for a change.

[[Director's Commentary: Regrettably, this is just fiction. I did run into the same flight attendant on three different flights in the space of a month, but there was no bathroom interlude like this. But I couldn't help wondering whether she looked untidy and unkempt because she really didn't care about her appearance, or because she really was the lioness type and had more earthy urges to concern her. Plus she looked really really good in those boots and that skirt. The last flight was weeks ago, but I kept thinking about her at odd times, and finally I wrote this over the course of a half hour, unedited, to give it the same raw, dirty feeling I sensed from her when I saw her.

It also goes without saying that I would never ever fuck a total stranger without protection. I don't much like condoms, but they're an absolute necessity. Especially if the girl's as big a slut as the one in this tale. And I mean that with all due respect. Nothing wrong with a slut who loves it and goes after it anywhere she can find it.]]

-- PB