First Class Mile High Club
When the client said he would pay for me to fly out to Shanghai first class and go over the yacht specs with him, I suspected he had more in mind than just stateroom finishes and the level of technology for the navigation and operation of the ship. After all, he'd never been able to keep his eyes above the neckline of my dress or blouse back when he was in Florida when we'd gotten to know each other. Ah, Mark, he wasn't subtle, but he was fun. He wore his wedding ring without hiding it in his pocket, and there was always the question about if I had an upcoming tour, or who I was traveling with.
Maybe I should have shocked him and told him the truth. "Actually, Mark, I'll be meeting five different men during the two and a half days in that city, I'll be having acrobatic sex, sucking cock, giving my body fully to their desires, having my ass fucked, gushing from my squirting pussy, and I'll come home with many thousands of dollars for all that fun." Nah, it was so much more fun to remain a mystery. But actually, that was pretty much on the agenda for the tour he asked about. Another fun loving Dolly tour!
But Shanghai? Awful long way from home. Alone? Did I really know him well enough for him to host me? I'd have my own room at the Waldorf, and he'd be across the Pudong River at the Ritz Carlton. Was that supposed to make me feel at ease? It did, actually. A western hotel, and I knew people who'd stayed there. A Dolly date client told me that the Waldorf had an amazing breakfast buffet, but he was a heavier eater than I expected to be.
A communist totalitarian country. Full of capitalism. I gave half a thought to building some Dolly dates into the trip. And then just didn't feel good about the justice system over there should something go wrong. If I was going to have sex in China, it would not be part of a Dolly date. Might as well sell a fantastic yacht, see some sights, and maybe finally give Mark a thrill.
Okay, who was I kidding, Mark was going to have me every which way. He was no hunk, but took care of himself, was in his late 40's so we wouldn't draw stares like when I go out with a man who is twenty, twenty-five, maybe even thirty years older than I am. Which I adore doing, by the way. The knowing smirk I give back to those who look at us with disapproval. The wink. Occasionally I've silently mouthed, "Yeah" and nodded my head toward my date when some younger guy, jealous of my Dolly date, caught my eye if we had time out in public. There was actually legit business to be conducted, so Mark and I would be in public. Dolly doesn't hide away -- except when she wants to, and always when it’s the smart, prudent move.
The first flight was to a domestic airline hub. Big frequent flyer club at that hub during the layover, the kind with showers for when international travelers have just arrived from a very long red-eye and need to freshen up then go straight to a meeting. Couldn't resist, so I slipped into a shower, mostly just to have the freedom to twiddle my fun nub down below and get off, my first of the trip. I also loved the idea of being nice and fresh for the flight. I swapped into my comfy traveling t-shirt, yoga pants, some slip on ankle boots, and went for the ponytail and baseball cap look. Big sunglasses. Incognito to the max.
The first class section was an interesting layout, every seat on the aisle, a one-two-one formation, and the lay-flat seats were essentially nearly private compartments. The airline even passed out pajamas for comfort in first class. Maybe my nephew might like the airline swag, I tossed them in my carry-on. Oh, note to readers -- the Delta 777 has a nice, large sized first class lavatory, completely bigger than a standard airplane lavatory. Great for mile high club activities. Just ask the muscular airline pilot flying across the aisle from me, he's the one who told me about it as we chatted across the aisle. He was part of a crew being relocated to Asia mid-month to continue some flight lines after one crew had all succumbed to a bad case of food poisoning in Seoul. "Serves them right for eating dogs in that country I said." Ron, the pilot, smiled, but said, "I think just the locals eat that, not the westerners."
Did I mention that Ron was really fit? "So, how'd you get a first class seat for this trip? Couldn't the airline make thousands by selling this seat?" I was touching his arm, and I'd stood up to perch myself on the edge of his compartment. We'd been in the air three and one-half hours from the western U.S. hub, dinner had been served, the lights were down low, and most folks were into their personal compartment video screen and headphones. Subtlety was not high on my list for the flight.
"Last minute upgrade. Apparently the guy who booked this seat was on a rush and didn't get the visa worked out in time. Nonrefundable ticket, too. His loss, my gain, I got to sit next to you."
I dragged my nails along his bicep for that one. "So these lay flat seats, how roomy are they when you put them in full horizontal mode?" I leaned forward when I asked him that.
He smiled, slowly, and interlocked his fingers with my fingers on the hand that wasn't enjoying the touch of his bicep. This Captain (I counted, four stripes on his epaulets) worked out. I really would enjoy fucking him, I was thinking. He answered my question and said, "not nearly enough room for the type of attention you deserve".
Okay, that made me smile. I leaned in, whispering into his ear, "How did you know I was in need of attention?"
"I didn't; I only know I'm dying to pay you more attention. Did you notice the size of the lavatory on the starboard side of the first class section? Really roomy in there."
He was right. He told me he would have a distinction knock. He did, and I opened the door quickly. I was all over him and had my tongue in his mouth, moaning, while I undid and dropped his uniform trousers. His already hard cock bobbed. I stroked his tool with my expert fingers while he groped my tits and I broke off the kiss long enough to say, "here, let me" and I reached behind myself, undid my bra, stepped out of my boots and pulled my top up over my tits to where it rested on my collarbone. My shaved pussy was already glistening with desire. I started to tell him that I had protection, my boots have a hidden compartment that I think was actually designed for a credit card, but he said "I've got it," and showed me a foil wrapper between two of his fingers.
Nice, well played.
I sat on the commode, lid down, and pulled his cock into my face, deep throating his six and a half, maybe seven inch man meat, teasing and tickling his scrotum, playing with his firm buns. "Oh, fuck" he gasped, then he backed out. My mouth felt empty.
"I'll fucking cum in your mouth in a second if you keep that up. My turn." And he lifted me by the elbows to a standing position and switched places with me, and sat down, bringing my womanhood to his face.
He wasn't that skilled, but any woman who says that she doesn't enjoy even a bad pussy eater is such a fucking liar. There are way more guys than you might think who won't, which I really don't get because of all the flavors in sex, pussy is the most arousing. I pressed my hips into his face, his fingers played with my ass, and he was better at teasing my puckered anus (see? A fresh shower before the flight came in handy!) and flicking my clit than he was with his tongue. But with the class participation credit for his mouth's contributions, he was still getting an A from my grade book.
"I need you in me. Put that on and fuck me."
Crude, but I thought it would excite him.
I was right.
And so turned and facing the airline sink and mirror, I watched a reserve wide -body airline captain fuck me in a standing doggy position. Our eyes met, and we smiled, and this was just so much...fun. It was fun! It wasn't even terribly sexy, I mean, we were in a lavatory, but we were being bad, he was in uniform (well, when he entered he was in uniform. Only the shirt and tie were still on. And his socks. Oh my God, his tie was still on!). Somebody was probably aware, if not everybody. It was a dismissible offense for him. I was just all smiles. I felt like a sixteen year old again, being naughty.
Not that I fucked airline pilots on planes when I was sixteen. Or anyone else. Didn't join the mile high club until after high school graduation. Senior class trip to Jamaica, actually. And word of that reached home as soon as we all got to the resort in Ocho Rios. Who cared, I was eighteen and Mr. Davenport was divorced and I'd had a crush on him since freshman year and taken one of his electives simply to look at his blue eyes one last time before graduation. "You know I'm legal, right, Mr. D? I really hope you'll chaperone the trip, Mr. D." Oh God he looked nervous. His high-powered corporate wife dumped him and was fucking her boss to advance her career and create a scandal because the boss was black and she was a ginger red head and the whole thing seemed taboo...But when I heard the gossip I was turned on and wanted Mr. D. to be Dolly-fied. He was the awesome English teacher who made me actually stay in and read instead of go out and fuck much more than I had expected to my last semester. So I screwed Mr. D. on board the plane. And in the hotel. And under the waterfall. Behind the plantation house on the island interior tour. On a secluded beach after he and I took a catamaran tour on a "free" unscheduled day. "Dolly, this has meant so much to me, but when we get home...." he began.
I pecked Michael Davenport softly on the lips and told him that I wasn't going to crowd him, that I'd gotten my fill, that if he wanted some reunion fun sometime I was totally in to it, but that I was headed off to college and didn't want to leave anything back home. I told him I hoped he loved how I made him feel, that I'd been with boys before but he was a man and now I felt like a woman. Sure, that last part was pretty much a lie, I'd been with men older than Mr. D. in my couple of years of sexual activity before the Senior Trip to Jamaica. But he either didn't know, or didn't seem to want to call bullshit on me. And yes, I sucked him off at Christmas that year when I was home from college. And the only reason he wasn't fired was because two key administrators and the other chaperone and a school board member were among the mature gentleman I'd already been with. So the Christmas suck-off was at a hotel. I had to spend grandma's cash gift somehow?
Oh, right, Captain Ron. Wait, Captain Ron? Wasn't there a Kurt Russell movie by that name? He's still hunky. Check him out in a superhero costume in Sky High, my little brother loved that movie. And Kelly Preston as his wife, also a superhero. What a fun three-way that would have been, me with those two...
But back to the 777 lavatory, his teeth bit slightly into my neck as he grunted and stiffened and filled his condom, all while I'd been thrusting back and humping in rhythm with Ron's fuck thrusts.
The flight attendant was a fifty-ish cougar, and she brought me a split of Champagne after I'd returned to my seat. I'd been admiring her legs all flight long, and her great manicure, and trim figure even in the flight attendant uniform. Brooke was her name. "Isn't he the best?" she whispered and winked at me. She smiled at Ron and he smiled back. I looked at Ron, who was moments aware from a blissful and well-earned snooze, and he shrugged.
Hours later, after a midnight ice-cream and cordials service for those who were awake, I chatted Brooke up as she took a rotation of twenty minutes "off duty" which really wasn't "rest" as the FAA defines it. So she was lingering near the open space near the cabin door and closet where there is a flight attendant jump seat. She had a gorgeous yellow gold diamond wedding and engagement set. I touched her hand to hold it closer and said, "Your rings are so beautiful". She squeezed my hand. "Twenty-one years. We have an understanding. Like I said, isn't Ron the best?" I asked her if she only flew the Asian routes, did she ever fly to Miami? We exchanged numbers.
I'll tell you about Brooke the Cougar and the nude beach and the "cubs" she and I picked up at a tourist bar when she came to Miami, as a special exception to her usual habit of flying the higher paying Asian routes, in another blog entry. Oh my God I hope I'm that sexy when I'm fifty two!
And I've been rambling, so I realize I'll have to tell you about Mark, the client who was flying me out to Shanghai, another time too, since I'm late for a flight to a Dolly destination city. My sweet friend Brooke arranged for me to get upgraded to first class on this flight, too, though she's back flying the Asian routes for a few months until she visits Miami again. Are you one of the men I'll be seeing on this trip? I hope so, I hope this blog got you as worked up as it got me. Sorry to leave you dangling about Shanghai. *Wink!
Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!