This story takes place within the context of a consensual freeuse relationship.

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

I don’t know why, but something about Olivia in comfy clothes always gets my blood pumping. Well, I guess you could say Olivia in anything gets my blood pumping. She could be wearing a Mennonite’s cape dress and I would want to completely fucking ravage her (apologies to the Mennonites and their presumably sacred traditional attire).

But on that cold, wind-snapped morning, we were queuing to board the plane and I was standing behind Olivia, eyes fixated firmly on the Lady of Shalott-level perfection that was her ass in a pair of loose grey sweatpants. That and the cropped, matching crew neck–it was just…erection-inducing. And then there’s the way she ever so casually ties her hair up in a messy bun. I swear to god it makes me want to slide two fingers between her thighs and make her cum against my wrist.

Maybe I have a problem, because I was half-hard walking along the jet bridge.

Olivia was, fittingly, oblivious. She was just happy to be accompanying me on the work trip. And I was happy to have her, because it meant that instead of watching Forensic Files reruns in the hotel room every night I could…watch Forensic Files reruns while she sucked me off. Or bend her over one of the two queen-size beds and see how fucking loud I could make her moan.

These thoughts and more were running through my head while we pushed off from the terminal and took flight. The plane was only about half-full, which was, at least since COVID, a first for me. But I can’t imagine people are tripping over themselves to travel to Minneapolis in the glacial depths of fucking February.

I was not thrilled to be staring down sub-zero temperatures. But I was quite happy to have a row to ourselves. So, when we were at cruising altitude and after the flight attendants passed through, I slid my hand along Olivia’s leg. She looked up at me from her–was it erotica? Yeah, it was definitely smut. Some sexy retelling of Hades and Persephone or something.

Good. Perfect.

“Enjoying your smut?” I squeezed her thigh.

She gave me the slight curve of a smile, “Maybe.”

She reached up, stretching in a deliberate way, exposing her stomach. My hand moved there and then danced along her waistband.

“What are you doing?”

I pretended to seriously ponder her question, “Oh, just thinking about how you’re going to take care of the erection I’m currently nursing.” My eyes flicked towards my groin, inviting her to see for herself.

Her voice turned to a whisper, “Here? On the plane?”

“That’s where we are, isn’t it?”

“I mean, we can’t just–”

But I was already grabbing her wrist, throwing a blanket over my lap, and placing her hand atop my bulging fly.

And just like that, she was shutting up and biting her lip the way she does whenever she’s turned on. I could even hear the tiniest whine escape from her lips.

Yeah, we were doing this.

Olivia was careful at first–looking over her shoulder, making sure no one was looking. But there was barely anyone around us and most of the passengers appeared to be sleeping. So soon she was paying more attention, quietly unzipping my pants and pushing her greedy hand inside. She acted a little surprised when her fingers wrapped around my swollen tip, precum breaking against her painted nails.

“Sticky,” she murmured, rubbing her thighs together.

“Stroke it.”

“Yes, sir.”

And she did. She squeezed me tight.

“Now would be a good time for some lube…” I trailed off. “Oh wait, I have that little travel bottle.”

I pulled the small glass vial from my backpack, holding Olivia’s hand against my crotch while I bent over. “Here we go. Palm.”

She dutifully presented her hand, which I glazed with way too much lube.

“Oh my god, wait, wait, so much.”

“Shhhhhh…”

“Sorry, sir.”

She was back to stroking me, moving quicker, more easily now. My cock throbbed against her palm and she played with the thick vein, running her ring finger along it as she pumped up and down. “Squeeze tighter. Slow down.” I slid my hand around her waist, pushed down and palmed her ass. And as she squeezed me tighter I, in turn, squeezed her tighter. My fingers dug against the fabric of her sweatpants hard enough to make her nearly squeal. But she caught herself, while she kept stroking me. I’m serious when I saw it took the self-control of the Dalai Lama himself not to grab her by the hair and shove her face-first into my lap. God, I wanted so badly to feel her plush, pink lips wrapping around my cock. Her tongue tickling my frenulum. Her eyes looking up at me, anticipating when I was going to fill her perfect fucking mouth with my cum.

But against all odds–I resisted. I channeled that aggressive sexual energy into the way I gripped her ass, which I was certain was going to be bruised.

I leaned close, whispering, “Make me cum. Make me cum like a good girl. Right here. Right now.”

She blushed, bit her lips, swiveled in her seat, and kept going. Squeezing. Stroking. Whining lightly.

Finally.

I exhaled as my cock throbbed inside your grip, cum quickly pouring over her fingertips. My hand went down her sweatpants and I dug into her flesh.

She was good, doing everything to gather up my cum with her fingers. Then, surreptitiously pushing each digit into her mouth in turn. Sucking them clean. Swallowing my cum. Of course she knew not to waste a drop, even when it was a mess. She worked quickly and discreetly, cleaning me as best as she could without using her mouth.

Afterwards, we took turns tip-toeing to the bathroom to clean up more thoroughly. Olivia sat beet-red through the rest of the flight. “That made me so fucking wet,” she confessed. “This thong is ruined.”

I chuckled, “Then we’re gonna have to get it off real fucking quick, aren’t we?”