Happy Anniversary To Me

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SeaTAc airport was pretty busy when I picked up my boarding pass and headed to gate 35. Even getting through the scanners were a major effort, but I finally made it, with plenty of time for inner reflection concerning my flight. You see, it is my anniversary, my 9th to be exact, and my husband would be waiting when I arrived in Dallas to greet me … most likely without flowers or card. He isn’t really — bullshit, he isn’t romantic at all. Period. I get more attention from our 14 year old paperboy than my own husband when I’m dressed in something revealing: maybe I should wear it for the paperboy. Anyway, he isn’t very attentive.

The truth is I enjoyed my business trip here in Seattle. Yes, it was tedious at times, law usually is. I’m a paralegal, I make attorneys look like they know what they are doing. And I’m damn good at it! I keep my miserable, sex-starved, personal life out of my professional life. But to look at me you’d think I had it going on. I’ve got a more than decent body, quite pretty (so I’m told) and a very open mind. Too open; but no one knows it, so I’m safe, and trapped in a complete fantasy world. A 32 year old dreamer.

I’ll admit it, I masturbate a lot. And I enjoy it. It has kept me from having an affair, or any type of sexual encounter that didn’t involve my asexual hubby. At least it did till I boarded my flight.

The beauty about flying first class, besides having not to pay is getting a stiff drink even while the stupid plane is still on the ground. I had 3 gin and tonics before we taxied, and they were strong — I know, I made them myself with those cute little bottles that make drinking so fun. I knew I was in trouble when I reached for the buzzer and turned on my AC vent instead. But I knew I was in bigger trouble after my 4th and this incredibly handsome man sat down next to me.

Maybe he was there the entire time, I’m not sure, but he was there when I looked over. I smelled his cologne, that is what I noticed first. When he spoke this warm sweet breath spread over my face; he was an Altoids man. I love fresh breath. We spoke — well he did, I slurred. The more he spoke the more I enjoyed it. He seemed interested in me as a person, not a drunk woman on a plane. It was refreshing — then annoying. I wanted him to flirt with me and he wasn’t. What kind of shit is this!? All day long these creeps try to get to first base — and I’m ready for a double play at least, and the guy is clueless. I then sort of got bold.

I organized my thoughts carefully, not wanting to sound like an idiot, as thoughts of the kartal escort bayan Mile High Club made cameos in my mind. Taking a sip of my 6th or 7th drink I asked, “So … you ever fuck on a plane?”

He spit his drink in my face. “Excuse me!?,” he said incredulously.

I smiled and wiped his face with my hand, he was drinking wine, probably going to stain my new blouse. “Oops!” Polite pause. “I meant to ask … ever heard of the high mile … mile high? Mile High Club.” I then turned my attention to his hands, they were HUGE! My husband has tiny hands, matches his useless penis. I reached out and took one of his hands in mine. The contrast was amazing.

“Are you ok, Miss?”

“Mrs! I’m married — you’re coc — your hands must be huge!”

“You’re holding my hand.” He started to pull away but then changed his mind.

I then told him all about my pathetic marriage: and I may have mentioned that I masturbated a lot.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was out of control and coloring outside the lines, but I also knew that I’d never see this man — this fucking hunk with big hands, ever again. He started talking, but I have no idea what about — my mind was racing. I watched him eat one of those silly bag of peanuts, and one single nut fell in his lap. He didn’t seem to notice, so I reached for it — he noticed that. I was intent on getting that pesky nut and I was digging in all the folds of his Hagar slacks. Before I found it I felt him stir under my diminutive hand. Whoa! I was right, he was huge there as well.

He placed his hand on mine in slight protest, but I never looked up; I couldn’t take my eyes off my hand, that was now stroking his cock to its full potential. It kept growing, and growing. I was like a little kid playing with Playdough for the first time. I was even sitting sideways, Indian style — which was bad, since I was wearing a short skirt.

Trying to encircle the entire thing with one hand was impossible. But I tried, and you can ask the stewardess, she walked by several times, slowing but not stopping. I managed to take my eyes off his enormous cock for just a minute and caught her eye. Apparently fondling was common in first class, she merely smiled and returned a moment later with a blanket. Super cock blushed, but I spread it all over his lap. Then, when I saw him looking at my saturated panty clad crotch, I covered my lap as well.

Logic had flown by like the cities below and I was only thinking of one thing, this guy’s cock. Looking around, he was relieved that escort maltepe no one else was sitting across from us, we were practically alone. I started to undo his belt, but he had to help. He also undid the button and zipper, and then slid his pants and boxers down to his ankles after I opened up the blanket all the way and covered his feet, and tired to push them down myself. With one hand I grabbed his wonderful cock; the other one was in my panties.

I looked into his eyes, he was gorgeous, and sporting a look of sheer joy. I still couldn’t get my fingers to touch around his cock, but I started to slide it up and down very slowly. When I got to the head I almost gasped, it was the size of a juicy ripe plum. I thumbed it and was relieved to find it dripping.

I love pre cum. Playing in it always makes more, and it tastes completely different than cum cum. “Are you out of wine?,” I whispered. He shook his finely sculpted manly head. “See if you like this better,” I added, and then quickly pulled my sopping fingers from under the plaid blanket and stuffed them into his shocked mouth. He sucked on them and almost unhinged them, he sucked so hard. As he did I squeezed his cock, starting at the base and sliding it up, like I did to my first boyfriend at the drive in, and was rewarded with a huge dollop of more pre cum. Using my forefinger and thumb I gathered it all up, then brought it to my mouth. But I couldn’t help myself, I had to play in it.

In several long strings I pulled my hand back and forth from my mouth, and licked at my sticky lips till, about a minute later, the strings broke.

It was then that I felt his fingers digging at my leg gatherings of my Maidenform underwear. When he finally got underneath I lost my mind — and slipped my head under the blanket.

It didn’t take long (when I was teenager the stomach acids ate my “punching bag” from throwing up so much, bulimia was hip then, and my gag reflex is nil) and I had him in my throat to the hilt. His pubes were tickling my nose. Using my throat, without moving my head, I sucked him senseless. It was then I had a brief sense of reality: I was sucking a strange man’s cock on a public airplane — and {{{{cumming}}}}!!!

About the time I soaked his long thick fingers, he arched his back and stifled a scream — and about blew the top of my head off. Wow! That boy came like a horse. Literally, I had seen a sick video at work of a whore giving one a hand job till he shot off. That horse had nothing on this man. Like a total whore I opened my throat and started pendik escort swallowing. I came again as I felt it slide deep into my tummy. One long string, and about 6 shorter spurts, all his delicious warm sticky nectar found a new home in my belly.

A few minutes later we were getting our clothing straightened out and back in our seats in the normal manner.

“No one has ever … ever sucked me off to the limit, before. That was the most amazing sexual experience I’ve ever had.” What a great thing to say! I smiled innocently, then ordered another drink. 1 hour of small talk later and I’m in the john — getting fucked like I’ve never been.

He fucked me so deep my ribs hurt 3 days later. I had my ass on the tiny sink and he plowed into me like a crazy man. Turbulence started to knock me off the sink so he stood me up, bent me over and had me grab the bowl — then fucked me from behind. Something my husband never did, said it was how dogs fucked. I envied them. It felt like the world had ended and I was floating in nirvanal bliss. I had to bite my lip because I came almost non stop, till he finally released. And when he did it felt like someone had stuck a radiator hose inside me — and flushed it!

Hot gobs of yumminess flooded through my insides, so much that it threw off my equilibrium and he had to hold me to keep from falling on the floor, like a discarded towel after a shower.

By the time we got to our seats the pilot was on final approach for Dallas Fortworth International. And I had to stuff myself with paper towels to keep from filling my panties with his cum.

As we gathered up our things and prepared to embark, the stewardess came by and winked at us. Super cock blushed. As we were walking through the tunnel on our way to solid ground I felt his hand brush against mine, but I was holding my purse so I couldn’t reciprocate. I smiled warmly, and hoped the paper towels would act as a dam a little while longer.

My husband kissed me, like a mother kisses a son on his way to catch a school bus, and obligatorily asked about my trip. No flowers, no card. As we were about to leave the terminal and head to the car I excused myself to pee — actually to restock my panty dam. As I was sitting on the potty I noticed a piece of paper hanging out of my purse. I didn’t recognize it. Pulling it out it said: Jim Mason, Official Mile High Club Member. And his e-mail address.

As I rejoined my husband I told him Happy Anniversary. He looked uncomfortable and “Dittoed”. How romantic. “Sorry Babe, I forgot.”

“That’s ok, I had a fabulous flight, it will be a while before the experience completely seeps out of me. I just want to take a nice hot shower and think about it some more. Really, I feel like a new woman.”

“That must be jet lag. You’re delirious.”


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