A Real Hoot | Mile High Scrub | 8

Sex in the Sky, Five Miles High!

Landing Slot — Carrie

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Carrie woke. Just for a moment, she was nowhere at all, and her mind was not engaging with reality.

This was not her bed. These were not the familiar sounds and sensations. A cat moving at her feet, a possum scampering across the roof, she was used to those, but not the whole sleeping experience tilting and moving.

Hospital? A cruise?

She opened her eyes in a world of gloom and soft lights. A tiny room, trimmed in gold, completely shut off.

Of course. This was her first class trip, the one that had taken all her points, and filled all her thoughts. What else was in that swamp of thoughts? Quicksand dragging her back down. Champagne tickling her tongue. The feeling of hands on her back, and fingers on her…

Brad! Oh, God, had she slept through the flight? He would be so upset. And so would she. Bugger. It was bad enough contemplating two weeks of no sex, no alcohol, and the company of pensioners, but missing her last chance for a good fuck with a man who turned her on so quickly and naturally was a tragedy.

She rolled over. Where was her watch, her phone? What was the time, anyway? Meaningless, she knew — this night flight spanned more time zones than her mind could handle.

She found the controls for the seat — one of those immaculate flight attendants had made it up into a bed hours earlier with what seemed like one fluid motion, laying it flat, strapping a narrow mattress on, tucking in a doona, laying a mint on the pillow — and raised it back into the normal position. Bedlinen cascaded down into a chaos on the floor of the suite.

Eva. That was her name. The tall one. Bugger the mint, she had looked good enough to eat all on her own.

Now, where was the button for the partition? She’d probably have to poke Brad awake. Men! At least he wasn’t snoring.

The partition slid softly down and there he was, motionless as his mind moved upon whatever was on the laptop screen before him. She sighed with relief.

He looked up.

“I was just about to peep over again. Thought you might have forgotten about me.”

She liked the way the soft glow of the dimmed screen lit up his smile.

“What time is it?”

“Don’t know. Probably about three in the morning in Sydney. More importantly, we’re somewhere over the Indian Ocean, and half the crew are tucked up in their little crew rest bunks. I think some of them may be doubling up. Eva and Judith were making eyes at each other, for sure.”

He snapped his laptop closed and tucked it into a storage compartment.

“There’s one attendant sitting in the galley reading. I had coffee with her before and told her I’d be having my shower in a while, and not to bother doing anything special. I let her know how many times I’d done this trip, and I think she remembered me from one of those. I gave her a packet of Tim Tams, one of the new flavours. I think she’s sweet.

He looked at her. Bed hair, shapeless grey pyjamas…

“Right, now if you are still good for that shower?”

Carrie nodded. Was she ever!

“Good. Now take this with you.” He handed over his tote bag with pyjamas and amenity kit. “And I’ll join you in about five minutes. I’ll knock like a postman.”

Carrie set Brad’s tote bag down inside the shower suite. Easily the biggest bathroom she’d ever seen on a plane, there was a tiny shower stall beside the door, a basin with an enormous lighted vanity mirror, a long padded bench — in grey, of course — and about three wide metres of open floor space.

She lifted one of the segments of the bench and used the facility beneath for its appropriate purpose. Now, did she want to be nude, or dressed in these baggy pyjamas when Brad arrived?

Clad, she decided. He looked like he’d been wanting to undress her since Sydney. She washed her hands in the basin, and peeked inside Brad’s tote bag. His pyjamas, neatly folded, his leather amenity kit, a gold-wrapped package about the size of a book, though it didn’t have the heft, and an envelope with a card inside. She pulled it out, opened it up. “Thank you for everything. Please enjoy these.” And a smiley face below.

He did have a nice hand with what must have been a fountain pen, and it was kind of sweet, but was she just a box of chocolates to him?

There was a double knock on the door, and she guiltily returned the card to the envelope.

She opened the door cautiously.

Brad. His arms were full of towels.

“Grabbed everything from the other shower. Need a bit of padding on the floor, I think.”

He spread out his cargo. Fluffy white bath sheets, a robe. Carrie gathered up what she could find and laid them on top. As she straightened up, she was seized and held firmly.

“I’ll bet you think I’m going to let you go,” Brad murmured into her ear, before nibbling the edge.

“Not for a while, I hope,” Carrie whispered back, smiling as a tingle went straight from her ear down into her toes, stopping to turn a couple of somersaults along the way. “We’ve got half an hour, you said?”

“Maybe a bit longer, but it gets risky if there’s someone outside waiting to clean up.”

“Best get started then,” Carrie said, beginning on his shirt buttons. “Give me something to snack on.”

She followed the increasing expanse of chest with her lips, kissing him, tasting him, enjoying him, drawing her lips across each nipple that rose from the silvered hair on his pecs.

Lovely firm pecs, and she gave each one a long admiring lick as she tugged the bottom of his shirt out from his trousers.

She didn’t ease her pace. Belt, trouser buttons, zip were steps on the way as he struggled out of his shirt. Trousers fell, and there he was in boxers, something held captive inside.

“Ah, just a moment,” he said, picking up his clothes and putting them on a hanger. “Got to wear them off the plane.”

Carrie ran her hands down his flanks as he turned to hang his clothes up against the door. Her thumbs caught in the elastic waistband of his boxers and drew them down, revealing two firm buns topping two taut thighs. He stepped out of his fallen underwear and turned to face her.

Not bad, not bad at all. A sheen of silver here and there on his body hair, matching his temples, and rising out of a dark thicket between his legs, his manhood, standing up to say hello and shake hands.

It kept on growing as she greeted it, running her fingers up its length, gentle on top.

She bent to pay closer attention. Oh my, but he tasted good. All man, a little zing of something spicy, and the texture of him hard and warm.

She stood up, “My turn now.”

“You have no idea how much I wanted to explore those pyjamas,” Brad said, running his hands up underneath the light grey top. “But I was being good for the gallery. Arms up!”

He peeled the fabric right up over her head, and then stood back to admire her boobs. She freed her arms as he knelt before her, touching his lips to each nipple on the way down, before finding the matching grey drawstring at the waist of the darker pants.

He pulled them down and bent to nuzzle her mound, drawing in a long breath and sighing as he let it out. His arms went around behind, taking her in closer as she raised one leg and then the other to kick off the grey pyjamas.

She could feel him teasing at her down there. She shivered with delight, but he disengaged, bent to retrieve her pyjamas, and set them on the bench.

He kissed her then, and she tasted herself on his lips. More of a tang than he had to him, but this was a taste she’d had before, and enjoyed.

There was a smoothness to his face she wasn’t expecting. After midnight, all men had a five o’clock shadow, but not this one.

“Came in before and had a shave,” he said. “Don’t want to sandpaper you. Massive turn-off.”

Carrie kissed this lovely, thoughtful, hunk of a man. Her hands went around him, feeling the light fur running down his back, matching the haze on his front tickling her boobs.

He was a treat from top to bottom. Tight skin over taut muscles. Apart from that bottom, which had a softness over the strength beneath. Nice to stroke him there. And everywhere, really.

“Down, Brad,” she ordered. “No, no,” when he stopped halfway. “On your back.”

He lay down and looked up at her. She could feel his eyes exploring her curves and folds, and she opened her legs, straddling him, one foot each side of his shoulders as she fixed her eyes on him in return, drawing out the anticipation of the coming delight. Here she was, high in the sky over an exotic ocean, speeding through the night at hundreds of kilometres an hour, alone with a delicious man who was as sweet as he was handsome as he was charming. This was literally above and beyond her everyday — or everynight — life, and it was a moment to savour.

“Well, the carpet matches the drapes,” Brad said.

“Listen to Mister Smooth,” she said. “Learn that at law school, did you?”

She dropped to her knees, taking him firmly in hand. But not stroking or tugging, oh no, he had to pay a little first.

“Hey,” she said. “The floor’s heated. Wow.”

Brad stiffened at the sound of voices outside. “Quiet,” he hissed.

Oh no. Just when she’d got the man exactly where she wanted him. She reached further down and gave him a squeeze. He groaned.

She listened in the stillness. Spanish. Two women, talking quietly. One gave a giggle.

She carefully turned and lay down on top of Brad. “None of the flight attendants were Spanish, were they?” she whispered into his ear.

“That would be the ladies who clean the restrooms. Filipina.”

She moved her body against him. “Let’s hope they don’t want to come in and clean this one, hey?”

“Well, they’ll certainly notice all the towels are gone from the other bathroom.”

She was moving her hips against his. She found her target, and pressed herself down. He moaned at the sensation, and she enjoyed the feeling for a moment before releasing him.

“Have you got any protection, Brad?”

“In the bag, he whispered. “Two.”

“Optimist.”

She quietly got up again. She thought she had heard footsteps outside, going down the stairs to the lower deck. Certainly there was nobody talking outside.

“Just relax for a bit, darling. I’ve got to dress you.”

She rummaged into the tote bag. A foil packet under her fingers, and she withdrew it, tearing it open with her teeth as she looked down on Brad. He was licking his lips, and she almost burst out laughing.

She knelt down and rolled the condom on. “Onto your side, sweetie, I want you on top.”

Brad made room for her, and for a moment they kissed as their bodies moved and tangled. Not a lot of room here, but at least she was horizontal and facing up on a soft, warm, and firm platform.

Brad positioned himself. She pulled her knees up and clapped them behind his bottom, pulling him in.

There! Perfect.

They worked together in a quickening rhythm, each push and withdraw inching her closer. She felt the tingling begin, in the distance at first, but gradually coming towards her, almost close enough to grasp, almost.

If only Brad could last just a bit longer for her.

His breathing started to catch, and she rocked her hips upwards, pulling him in hard. He was pounding solidly, and she felt the first gasps of his release as her own came into range. She let herself relax and absorbed his climax, feeling each pulse, timing her breathing, timing her own movements…

Here it comes. “Stay still, honey,” she said. “Just push hard.”

He groaned a little, but pushed down on her as the warm golden waves began rolling through her body, each one rising and holding and falling in a delicious rhythm.

Carrie sighed as she hugged Brad inside, her muscles flying on autopilot, taking him in and handing out pleasure to her brain.

No words needed. She opened her lips and he kissed her as the aftershocks rippled and receded.

They lay wrapped together on a pile of fluffy white cotton, eight kilometres high, happy and warm and still.

I’ve self-censored this piece brutally. Things are a lot spicier in the e-book, and there’s more to enjoy. Readers here will have to use their imagination a fair bit, but I think I’ve sketched in the basics.

There are two shower suites on the Emirates A380, on the upper deck just behind the cockpit, in front of the forward internal stairs and the small self-service bar area for the First Class cabin. They are large, well-appointed, and supplied with soft and comfortable surfaces for the “Max 2 Occupants” to have an enjoyable time together.

While I haven’t actually shared my shower with anybody else but the flight attendant who showed me the controls — pretty standard, but the water runs out after five minutes, and there’s a gauge showing how much is remaining — I have no doubt that with a bit of cheek and/or social engineering getting two occupants inside could be done, and so long as activities were kept reasonably discreet, there would be nothing said. After all, these passengers are paying a literally sky-high fare, and tend to be influential characters of rank and status.

My two characters have had their fun, but have they gotten away with it? Will there be any blowback?

Britni

Next chapter:

(Tomorrow)

The story so far: