tagLesbian SexSapphic Stewardess

Sapphic Stewardess

bylibidinal©

I had just completed my sophomore year in college. I grew up in Boston and had spent my entire life in New England. Now I was attending one of those prestigious but rather prim ‘seven sister' colleges of which my mother and my two older sisters were both alumni. And that was after years at a dreary preparatory school my mother, too, insisted I attend. After all, mother, grandmother before her, and my two sisters had gone there and it was another of those absurd ‘family traditions' to which they insisted I, too, adhere. While in some ways it is advantageous to grow up privileged, as I had, it can also be very stifling. Especially in that austere world of the New England aristocracy. We were all so damned ‘civilized' that sometimes I wanted to puke. Often when your upbringing is overly refined and ‘proper,' as mine was, one's imagination becomes very fertile. One dreams of wallowing in more tawdry terrains, of transgressing the bounds of propriety, of deviating sharply from the expectations of polite society... of being free and wild! And this is especially true in the sexual domain where three centuries of Puritanical influence have had their effect on the sexual climate of the region and, in particular, its more ‘proper' denizens.

Now that I was in college I was better able to exercise that freedom I had so long sought -- but only to an extent. For the ‘prestigious' New England four-year women's college in many ways only continues the constraints of the kind of childhood I had experienced. Freedom was still stifled, now not only by an old-fashioned puritanism, but by a new form of shrill puritan body of belief -- a pervasive feminism which insisted, no less than the pulpit, that only certain beliefs and behaviors were ‘proper' for a woman. And so, still, I longed for the open, unfettered, spacious freedom I had so long sought. A freedom where I wouldn't have to constantly conceal my needs and desires from others who would think them inappropriate.

And naturally, as is the case with so many women my age, the freedom I was especially eager to taste at this stage of my life was sexual freedom.

You see, I am blessed (or cursed, some would say) with a intense, sometimes rapacious libido. I was aware of this from the first early simmering moments of my sexual awakening. My girlfriends had long regarded me as being ‘boy crazy'. My chronic yearning for pleasures that could be achieved with the opposite sex -- and with one's own fingers! -- had grown steadily to the point where I can now honestly and unabashedly claim that I am quite thoroughly addicted to sex. It's probably not too much of an exaggeration to say that I am addicted to my own surging, volcanic libido. Maybe one day if this gets out of hand I'll need to visit one of those Sexaholics Anonymous chapters and confess to my many excesses. But for the time being I am more than happy wallowing in and gorging on hefty doses of uninhibited eroticism.

So the plans I had made for this summer excited me with their prospects. I would be working as a waitress in the dining room of a very expensive and luxurious Wyoming dude ranch. One of my friends in college, Beth, was from Wyoming and had already worked at several of the area's ranch resorts during high school and college, for several summers now. Through her efforts I was able to obtain a summer job out there, in dude ranch country.

Beth had often regaled me with tales of the kind of easy freedom and looseness people out West seemed to enjoy, so very different from my own rigid upbringing amidst the cotillions and country clubs of New England. Now I was eager and curious to experience that kind of world for myself.

Though I had been to Europe several times and even lived in London for a year as a little girl when my father was stationed there as a diplomat, I had never really spent much time outside of New England. But I was young and adventurous and was always eager to broaden my horizons. And when Beth started telling me, with a lewd little wink, about the manly men out in Wyoming that sure was extra incentive! Beth knew very well how eager I always was to familiarize myself with all the varieties of masculinity! As a red-blooded twenty year old American woman I’d had my fair share of experience with men. But now I was ready for more. A lot more!

Finally I boarded the plane which would take me to Salt Lake City. Beth would pick me up there and we'd drive up to Wyoming together. I booked a night flight, hoping I could sleep the night, and arrive in Salt Lake City the next morning without wasting a day flying. But the flight was almost completely booked and it was hot, noisy and very uncomfortable, even though I managed a window seat and was lucky enough not to have anyone sitting in the seat next to mine.

With the flight so heavily booked the stewardesses had more than their share of work. And I had to admire how they went about it. Briskly and with a smile, no matter how much pressure they seemed to be facing. And, believe me, with crying babies,

fearful flyers, and the cranky demands of a myriad of flyers there was a lot of pressure.

I especially noticed one of the stewardesses, one who seemed to show real grace under pressure. Her name plate said ‘Christine.'

Christine was a real knockout. I’d heard to men in the boarding area say to each other that the stewardesses at this new airline were said to be rather attractive. And this Christine was so overwhelmingly chic and svelte that I would've expected her to be a fashion model. She was tall and slim and blond and had a perfect figure, even in those dully tailored outfits stewardesses are forced to wear. Christine was assigned to my section of the plane and she was very helpful, getting me a couple of aspirin when I needed them, and just smiling and generally being very being courteous, which, believe me, you can come to appreciate on an overbooked flight with a lot of grumpy, dissatisfied passengers on it.

Well, if I thought I could just drop off to sleep and wake up in Salt Lake City nice and rested, I was wrong. Instead I was having terrible trouble getting any rest. It was late, and the plane was dark, and everyone but me finally seemed to be sleeping. I was squirming in my seat trying to fall asleep too, when Christine approached me.

"Would you like a blanket?" she asked me.

"I looked everywhere for one, but there didn't seem to be any more left," I said. Since this was a fully booked flight, the few blankets and pillows seemed to have quickly disappeared from sight almost immediately.

"Let me go see if I can find one for you," she said with a sweet, gracious smile.

Soon she returned with a blanket.

"Here you go," she said, unfolding it for me.

I thanked her and covered myself. Maybe now I could finally get some sleep.

"Mind if I take this seat next to you and try to get some shuteye myself? I had to give up my usual seat to a mother with a crying infant."

"No. Go right ahead."

I was sitting in the window seat and she took the seat beside me.

"Here, we can share this blanket," I said.

We draped the blanket over ourselves and shut our eyes. But still I couldn't sleep. Maybe I'd have to get more comfortable. I was wearing a pair of very tight jeans and they were digging into my crotch. Not the sort of garment you should wear on a cross-country flight. A loose dress would've been a much wiser and much more comfortable choice. But as usual, I wouldn't listen to my mother's very sensible suggestions and insisted on wearing a pair of sexy but much too tight jeans.

It was dark, I was covered by a blanket, so I thought I could discreetly take off my jeans and get a little bit more comfortable

I guess all my squirming must've woken up Christine, who had fallen asleep.

"What are you doing there?" she asked drowsily.

"I'm taking off my jeans, and trying to get more comfy so that maybe I can finally fall asleep."

I felt much better now that I was in my panties, and closed my eyes again. It was pretty tight quarters here so Christine lifted the armrest, removing the divider between us and giving us both more room. Now, with nothing on below my waist but a

pair of silk bikini panties, I could feel her against me. I hoped she didn't mind me getting partly undressed like this. It was a rather intimate thing to do, I realized.

Then something Christine did made me think she didn't mind at all. She turned around and cuddled up against my back. I didn't know what to think or do. Was this just an innocent, semi-conscious move on her part? Or was something more going on? Naturally, the thought raced through my mind that she might be bi-sexual and have a fondness for girls. I was straight myself and had never had sex with another female. But going to an women's college I was quite thoroughly familiar with girls who liked to put the moves on other girls, even though I myself had successfully resisted such overtures in the past. I had been tempted once or twice, but for the most part the lesbians that came on to me in college had very little sex appeal. They were the sorts who stayed up reading feminist tracts while drinking herbal tea. Maybe if one of them had approached me with raw sex on her mind I would have been more receptive! In fact, the only truly intimate experience I had ever had with another female -- and it wasn't what I'd call a full-blown sexual episode -- was not with another student, but with one of my professors. This happened early the past semester.

A few months ago my French Lit professor asked me to see her after class so she could talk to me about something and I was prepared for the worst. For I knew exactly why she wanted to see me, and dreaded it. And she was my favorite professor too. I knew I shouldn't have plagiarized a paper for her course, but I did and now I was certain she had caught on and that's why she wanted to see me.

"I think you know why you are here Annie," she said sternly, though with a rather sexy purr to her voice.

I nodded, figuring it was pointless to protest.

"Are you aware that the penalty for plagiarism is expulsion from the college?"

"Oh God, Professor Marceau My parents will kill me if I get thrown out of school. I'm really sorry I plagiarized that paper. It's just that I had so many things on my mind. Couldn't you punish me in some other way?" I begged her.

"Have you some other kind of punishment in mind perhaps?"

I sure did. I had thought about what my strategy would be at this point and had decided on a plan of action. So now I turned around, lifted up my skirt, and pulled my panties halfway down my trim, but shapely ass.

"Maybe you could spank me?" I said coyly, having heard from other girls in my all-women's college that Professor Marceau was a notorious lesbian. And not an old battleaxe bulldyke either, like some of the other profs around here, but a very attractive young woman not yet out of her twenties.

"Hmmmmmh, that may be a suitable punishment."

I had a feeling she'd go for it. I've got a perfect little ass, the sort that makes women who are horny for their own sex cream. Believe me, I know. There are plenty of women on this campus who undress me with their eyes every day. At a woman's college you have to get accustomed to that, even to use it to your advantage in gaining special favors.

And I could tell Professor Dumont was a sex-obsessed woman, the way she was having us read Marquis de Sade and stuff like that.

I took my skirt off as provocatively as possible. Then rolled my panties down my thighs. I figured it couldn't hurt for me to be as sexy as possible now with my French Lit professor. Plus, for some reason I was beginning to feel strangely aroused myself.

I walked around her desk to her chair and got over her knees, wiggling my naked buttocks in her face.

"Spank my cute little ass. Punish me for being bad," I said, a thumb in my mouth.

Soon I felt the flat of her hand come down sharply on my ass cheeks. Then again. And again. I winced as I realized this wasn't just a game I was playing, but that I really was being punished. Suddenly I found all this terribly exciting. Stretched over her lap like this and getting my buttocks slapped real, real hard. I've always tended to be rather wicked and, I suppose, deep down I knew I deserved, and maybe even needed, occasional punishment like this.

"You've been very bad and naughty, haven't you, Annie?" she said in an authoritative voice as she kept spanking me.

"Yes, yes! I have been bad. I deserve this kind of punishment. I need it! Spank me harder," I purred sexily.

God, was my sore bottom ever tingling and burning now. I also felt something else. I felt my pussy becoming quite moist. I would've done anything to dig a few fingers in there and relieve the tension while I was being spanked, but I wasn't quite sure how my Prof would react to that.

I could hear her breathing heavily now and I guessed that my pussy wasn't the only one that was moist. So I took a chance. And did something I had never ever done in my life, though I had fantasized about it on occasion. While she kept spanking me I slid a hand up her leg, and then further up her sleek thigh, to the crotch of her panties which I now discovered were absolutely soaked. I managed to slip a couple of fingers under the elastic of her panties and to dig them into her cunt. For the first time in my life I was actually touching a pussy other than my own. My fingers trembled as I probed the aroused flesh.

As my Prof felt that, she ceased spanking me and just started breathing real hard.

"So you like ‘punishing' me, huh Professor Marceau?" I teased as I fingered her. "It excites you?"

All she could do was sigh even more deeply. I found her clit with my fingertip. It was as big and smooth as a marble. The only clit I had ever fingered prior to this had been my own. With that one I had plenty of practice though!

"Thanks for the ‘punishment,' professor," I said with a sexy wink after her body trembled like a leaf in climax. I knew I'd have no further problem with my plagiarism. I got up off her lap, pulled up my panties and slid down my skirt as she fell back in her chair, panting deeply in utter satiation.

So even though I could claim I was still more or less straight, that encounter had certainly sensitized me to female-female arousal. And so now I was thinking that if Christine should be bi, then my having stripped down to my panties like this must've seemed quite a provocation to her. Why, I could see how to her eyes it may even have seemed like an invitation to become more familiar with me.

I got my answer soon enough when I felt her hand moving slowly over my breasts, squeezing them gently as a finger rubbed against my hardened nipple. Then she glided her hand down over my stomach to the crotch of my panties. A year ago I would have resisted such an overture, but somehow, now, it all seemed right. The two of us, nuzzled up together in a dark jet, unable to sleep, covered by a blanket which concealed from onlookers any little games going on beneath it.

Then her hand slid under the elastic of my panties and reached for my pubic mound, just as my own had slid under my French Lit professor's undies. I was feeling really moist down there as her fingers found my slit and began to caress me. Her fingers down there felt just sublime. And the warmth of her body against mine was somehow intoxicating.

She brought her lips up to whisper in my ear.

"You're so moist down there!"

I didn't quite know what to say. This was the first time another female had ever touched my pussy. For a moment my old heterosexual defenses reared their head and I thought about removing her hand from my private parts but, instead, I found myself feeling blissfully happy having her caress me like this. The wetness creeping up on me down there was clearly and unambiguously expressing me feelings

“I’m moist because I’m excited,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder at her, seeing her eyes glisten with arousal, even in the darkened cabin.

I squirmed up against her under the blanket as she expertly fingered me, finding the swollen nub of my engorged and intensely aroused clit.

"Why don't you follow me down to the rest room. We can do things there we can't do in our seats," she said in a husky, sexy whisper.

She got up and, like a zombie, I followed her. I wrapped the blanket around me to cover myself up so I wouldn't have to put on my jeans. Still, I was self-conscious. But no one seemed to notice. Everyone was asleep.

When we got to the rest rooms in the rear of the plane, Christine told me to go inside and to leave the door unbolted. I guess she wanted to be discreet. After all, a stewardess could probably get herself fired if she was caught going down on a passenger. Even a female passenger! I'm sure that enjoying a bout of cunnilingus with a female passenger is as frowned upon as sucking a male passenger's cock. Maybe even more so.

Christine slipped inside the stall and locked the door behind her. You know how tiny those airplane toilets are. There's hardly room for one in there, let alone two. But we managed.

"I've got to confess something, I've never done it with another woman," I said, "I thought I should tell you that."

Her eyes gleamed when she heard I was novice in the domain of girl-girl sex.

"You relax, okay? Probably the reason you can't sleep is because you're a tad horny. And I'm going to take care of that. Just sit down on the toilet," she told me.

She pushed aside the blanket that was still covering me, and then pulled down my panties and removed them, spreading apart my legs. And then she deftly managed to wiggle her way to her knees between my open thighs.

"What a pretty little pussy," she whispered breathlessly, "So young and so moist. And so very tasty, I bet."

"Have a taste and see," I said, suddenly feeling brazen as I spread my legs even further apart,

"I think I will," she said, gazing up at me, lust in her sparkling blue eyes.

She began to gently kiss the inside of my thighs, slowly bringing her lips upwards towards my pussy, teasing me. By this time I desperately wanted her tongue right at the center of my femininity, deep in the folds of my throbbing vulva.

And I was not disappointed. For the next thing I knew her slippery tongue was pressing against my aroused membranes, licking me sensually. I closed my eyes and sighed, luxuriating in the profound pleasure.

"Shhhhhh!" she said, "We've got to be quiet."

I suppose my sighing had grown a little loud.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be sorry. It's just that you're excited. And that makes me excited. Excited and... hungry!"

She returned to my pussy. I've always loved oral sex and lots of guys had licked me down there, but it never felt quite as good as it felt now. Maybe I never wanted it quite so much as I wanted it now. And somehow I'm sure Christine could sense this, she could sense my youthful ardor.

Christine kissed and licked every inch of my inflamed cunt. She was so good at it, so attuned to all the exquisitely delicate refinements of my pleasure. The only thing that had ever come as close was my own fingers.

If we were alone I would have shouted and howled and shrieked. I would have announced to the heavens all the deep carnal joy I was feeling. But now I just gritted my teeth as I felt a wild, quivering, pulsating climax rush through my heated loins as I exploded in a convulsion of pleasure.

After the spasms of my orgasm had subsided I pulled up my panties and just collapsed against the toilet seat, closing my eyes a moment to luxuriate in the aftermath, in the sublime glow of pleasure to which Christine just brought me.

"That was lovely!" Christine gasped. "You tasted so sweet, and you're so responsive. Was it good?"

"How can you ask that? It was heaven!"

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