Small planes are fun. And sometimes they are really fun.
Technically, I shouldn’t have been there, not with COVID-19 and social distancing rules in place all across the world, but when a beautiful pilot offers you the co-pilot seat, you take it.
But then again, I was the only person flying today, so perhaps she wanted some company upfront. And I’m pretty cute too, even if I say so myself. Twenty-nine years old, 5’11”, blonde, with killer blue eyes. There was a reason they called me the Icelandic Queen at work. My Nordic ancestry was powerfully prevalent. Back in the day of Vikings, I would have fucked you up if you looked at me the wrong way. That would happen today too. Don’t mess with me.
I think my pilot was of similar ancestry, and that’s perhaps why she smiled at me so genuinely as I handed her my carry-on to stow in one of the plane’s cargo compartments. She couldn’t have been much older than me and certainly as beautiful, if not more so, with that pilot uniform on. Hot!
The take-off was uneventful, and it was delightful to watch her at work. She was utterly comfortable in this environment, and the plane was an extension of herself. We settled into an easy banter with each other once she showed me how to use the Push to Talk button on the yoke, her delicious voice coming through both ears in the headset I was wearing. Were we flirting? Yes, and it wasn’t subtle.
It’s been a while since someone has so obviously turned me on. So I was somewhat taken aback when I shifted in my seat and realized I was more than a little wet. What was this woman doing to me?
As if she sensed my excitement, or maybe she picked up the faint scent of my flushed sex, she brought her hand down on my knee. And left it there.
In any other setting, I would have brushed it off, but between the apparent chemistry between us and the fact that I was wearing a short summer dress, I loved the feeling of her hand on me.
The flirting continued; the hand stayed in place, squeezing my knee in synchronicity as we laughed at something together.
And then the hand moved.
Slowly but steadily, she moved her hand. Along the top of my leg, then to my inside thigh, pausing for a moment, as if asking for permission to go further. I responded by opening my legs for her anticipated touch. Had I been wearing underwear, then we might have had a problem, but I had been going commando for some time now, so panties weren’t going to hamper her intentions.
Cunnilingus is always appreciated, but I prefer to be touched. I want the intimacy of making out with a partner while they finger fuck me. Obviously, I couldn’t kiss the pilot while she had both our lives in our hands, so having her inside of me was enough. Little did I understand about small planes and autopilot systems.
She turned and kissed me, all the while touching me into a frenzy. I stared into her sky blue eyes, but unlike my own, they were warm and inviting. We made out for thirty seconds or so before she would quickly scan her instruments to make sure we weren’t plummeting to our deaths. Between her mouth, her fingers, and the uniqueness of being fucked on a small plane, I was having some of the most intense orgasms of my life. I really couldn’t tell where one ended and the next started, just these rolling waves of pleasure as she kissed me and teased my clit over and over again.
A loud pinging alarm went off at some point, and she turned her full attention to the instruments. Nothing was wrong. We were just near our destination, and unfortunately, our fun had to end while she landed the plane.
I was a hot mess. Utterly ravaged by this woman, all the while four thousand feet up in a tiny airplane. As if reading my mind, she said,
“Nope. It doesn’t count. A mile is 5280 feet.”
And then she smiled, a deliciously devious smile, and said,
“We can climb higher next time.”
I’m not sure if she meant our altitude or the height of my pleasure.
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