Night Flight

August 9, 1992

Tom and I honeymooned in Paris for a glorious week. It was a whirlwind of amazing sights, great food, art, history, romance some memorable sex. Very sweet, at times very hot, but at times simple and comfortable. Intimacy doesn’t have to involve fireworks and earthquakes every time. Any couple who expects this is in for some disappointment.

Sometimes it’s more about you than him. On a ten hour flight to Paris, with anonymous travelers asleep all around us, I made myself cum for Tom. Want to hear about it? Read on, dear friends.

Luckily, we had business class seats in an outside row. The airline had lavished us with pillows and cozy blankets. They also supplied earphones and various sleep aids, including a sexy black silk sleep mask. That will be featured in a future story!

The flight attendants were wonderful. Somehow they knew we were on our honeymoon. They oohed and aahed over my ring, my outfit, and my cute husband. I felt like a princess.

After some champagne and wine with our dinner, I was feeling very relaxed. The pressure of the wedding was behind us. I was so happy to be married to a man I adored. Now we were carefree for a whole week, and to on our way to the most romantic city on earth. What more could a girl want?

Well, for one thing, I wanted him.

I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his hands roaming all over me, exploring my private places. I wanted to feel the weight of his hard, muscular body pressing me into our bed. I wanted to wrap my legs around him, and taste his mouth, his skin. I wanted to feel his cock inside me again. One time (actually, three times between 8 a.m. leaving for our flight at 4 p.m.) was not enough.

After dinner and a delicious ice cream dessert, the cabin lights were dimmed. Passengers were settling back into their seats for a movie or a good book, then some sleep.

Tom looked at me. “What do you want to do? Talk? Read? Watch a movie? Grab some zzz’s? You have to be exhausted after this whirlwind we have been on,” he said sympathetically.

“Are you kidding me?” I whispered. “I want you to f*** me. Surely there is somewhere on this plane where we can find some privacy.”

He gave me an ‘I can’t believe I’m married to a sex kitten’ look. But then his cautious brain cells broke through the fog of yes-lust.

“Hold on, Annie,” he protested. “I love the thought of joining the ‘Mile High Club.’ But trying to have two-minute sex in a 3×5 weird-smelling airplane bathroom is not on the top of my bucket list. We’ve had sex three times in the last 12 hours. Can’t we hold off till we get to the hotel? Clean sheets? A relaxing massage? Screaming climaxes? I promise I will make it worth the wait.”

I gave him my fake pout look. “Okay, lover. But while you sit over there looking ruggedly handsome,” I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I’m going to touch myself under this blanket and think about you.” I finished the thought by tracing his ear with my tongue and nibbling his earlobe. Then I planted a wet kiss on his jawline.

I waited until the passengers around us got very still. I then crawled over Tom (lingering a second or two so he could get a nice glimpse of cleavage) and went to the restroom. I washed up, reapplied some perfume and a touch of lipstick. Then I removed my panties that were already damp with anticipation. I returned to my seat.

When I sat back down, I reached over and took Tom’s right hand. Then I deposited my black lace thong in his palm and rolled up his fingers around it. He gave me a look that let me know I had his full attention.

I hit the button that turned my seat into a bed and fluffed up my pillow. Covering up with the complimentary blanket, I pulled it up around my chin. I turned on my side to face Tom and started my solo performance.

I don’t know how other girls pleasure themselves, but I like to start from the top. I unhooked my bra (front closure is best!) and lightly caressed the tops of my breasts. I then licked my fingers slowly and sensually. After that, I went back under the covers to pinch and pull my nipples to full erection.

Tom couldn’t take his eyes off me. The blue light from the movie screen was all he needed.

I did my best to maintain eye contact with him, but he kept breaking it off to watch my hands moving under my blanket.

“Tommy,” I whispered. “Look at my eyes. Watch me.”

After a minute of attention to ‘the girls,’ I reached down and unbuttoned the top of my jeans. I made sure Tom could hear the faint sound of a zipper being pulled down.

I inched my fingers into my pubic hair. This was the 90s, after all. I was sporting a small handful of soft strawberry blonde hair between my legs. (I still keep a trimmed patch of luxuriant, translucent hair on my pubic mound. While I have gone bare at times, Tom prefers a natural look. So do I.)

I firmly pressed my pubic mound with the heel of my right hand and slowly began to grind my hips against it. This was starting to feel pretty good. Caressing my breasts and pinching my nipples got my juices flowing. Knowing Tom was watching every little move I was making was a tremendous turn on.

I held off on touching my clit until I could feel it begin to swell and pulse. I separated my index and middle fingers and ran them down each side of it. Slowly stroking my labia, I pressed down, sliding my middle and ring fingers in and out of my slippery vagina.

I let my eyes open a little wider with the increasing pleasure, then closed them tightly. I imagined Tom’s cock entering me as it had done earlier in the day.

In and out. Up and down. Small strokes, only interrupted by the brush of my fingertips over my engorged clit.

Within a few minutes, I had brought myself right to the edge of an orgasm. I could feel my tummy muscles began to tighten. My hips raised, responding to the rhythm of my strokes. My left hand was cupping and squeezing my left breast. I wanted to feel Tommy’s lips and tongue hungrily sucking and licking my nipples. I’m sure that look on my face had gone from playful to serious business. I was going to cum for my new husband, going 600 miles an hour at 35,000 feet!

Tom reached forward and turned off his screen to give us a bit more privacy. I could feel my orgasm continue to build. Finally, I got to that peak, where I knew I was going to cum. My legs began to tremble. My back arched and my toes pointed, and I felt that lovely, familiar release. I turned my face into the pillow and tried not to make any more noise than I already had.

Just then, a pretty young flight attendant touched Tom on his shoulder. She asked if she could bring us anything. I froze and pretended to be asleep. That was not the easiest task, being on the downside of my fourth (or fifth?) orgasm of the day.

“No thanks,” he whispered. “We’re fine.”

“Hmm, I can see that,” she said. I opened one eye. She was smiling knowingly.

I should have been mortified. A 32-year-old woman caught masturbating–in business class! At least I could claim Tom as a co-conspirator. I could see the international headline. Maybe we could stay in Paris and never return!

“Sorry,” I mouthed to the flight attendant. “We are on our honeymoon.”

She gave me a wink and moved to the next aisle. Whew! At least we weren’t going to have to see the captain and get thrown off the airplane.

A few minutes later, I crawled back over Tom for another trip to the restroom. I had a bit of tidying up to do. Our fellow travelers were either fast asleep or absorbed in their in-flight movie. No judgy eyes!

But, as luck would have it, I came face to face with our guardian angel, who had caught me red-handed (so to speak).

I put my hand on her arm. “I know you are busy. I just wanted to say…to apologize. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know what I was thinking. Thank you for not…well. For…understanding?”

She smiled and hugged me. “Don’t give it a second thought. I’ve been married for ten years. With all the travel I do, sometimes I miss him so badly, I can feel an empty hole in my chest. It hurts. Literally. And then I see him. And I am whole again.”

“Yes! That is how it feels!” I was wiping tears from my face. Why was I crying?

She handed me a tissue. “Men are easy. Marriage, not so. Honeymooners are easy too. Low maintenance! Congratulations. I wish you the happiness that I have found.”

I returned to my seat. Tom was in some mild distress. A good lesson: he learned how it feels. Ladies first, guys!

A few hours later, we were wrapped in each other’s arms, in our honeymoon bed. It was on the 9th floor of The White Rabbit in St. Germaine. Remember it, Tommy?

Remember?

Much Love – Annie.

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6 replies
  1. hornyGG says:

    Very erotic story Naughtywife58. I have yet to join the "Mile High Club " myself and since Ben hates to fly, I guess I never will.
    Funny how the idea of getting caught in a sexual act, both terrifies and turns you on at the same time.
    Like you I probably would have been a bit embarrassed and apologetic. But I also would have been aching for another orgasm. 😊
    Love your stories! God bless you and stay horny always.

  2. Pushbabypush says:

    Naughtywife58, Wow. This is both highly erotic and tremendously sweet. The description of your blonde pubic hair 'au naturel' made me so hard. Then I went soft with a tear, at how you and the stewardess connected. Sex is love and love is sex. At least that's how it should be.

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