Who Knew

A New York City Apartment

Marla D. Deering, born Marla Darling Dexter, was bored. She slumped in the luxuriously over-stuffed chair and frowned at her loneliness. Her life had gone from an exciting and liberating string of clubs and one night stands to endless days at home and one familiar "stand" per week. Her old friends never called and she longed for their jibing and teasing about her previous lifestyle. She'd married one of those very special ones she'd met, and didn't regret a single thing about her man, but she was seriously unfulfilled with just him. Perhaps there was no man who could ever keep her happy. And now that she was married, it seemed her entire previous life, friends and family alike, were gone. Her only friend now, in the long daytime hours and the several nights alone each week, was a box, filled with imitating, stimulating, only somewhat exhilarating tools to help her stay afloat in her dismal sea of gloom. Life suddenly sucked.

She was confused too, on top of the loneliness. How could this be? Mark had been such a great lover before their marriage. He had never failed to satisfy her when they made love, and he'd never been far from her side all during their short courtship in her apartment. She'd asked him to move in and he'd done so, under the agreement that anything longer term would be taking place in his apartment, not hers. His was bigger, on the upper east side, and closer to his job in New York. She was to quit her job on Long Island, for he made a lot of money in the city and this would enable them to be together before and after work more quickly, and even during lunch. What they both failed to recognize was that his business, advertising, kept him late most nights he was in town, and required he visit his two biggest clients each week. One was in California, and the other in Texas. Mark was good about coordinating them both to occur on the same trip, a regular run to California on Tuesday mornings, back to Houston on Wednesday morning, and then back to New York on Thursday morning. He invariably had too much to do as a result of being away for two and a half days so he usually went right to the office from Laguardia and came home to the apartment after eight again that night. The result was that they saw, it seemed to Marla, even less of each other than before. How could that be, she asked herself for the ten thousandth time.

Did he not care for her anymore? Was he seeing someone else? Had she suddenly become less than attractive? Had she done something wrong? Marla examined the circumstances befalling her again and again, each lonely moment without him, and always came to the same conclusion. She felt he had lost his urge to go out of his way for her, now that he could rely on her being home when he got there. He had taken her for granted. It was his fault. It had to be. She hadn't changed a bit, damnit. This could not be laid off on her. Her body was still as hot, as voluptuous, as firm as it was a year ago. She still wore all the slinky and revealing underwear, all the clinging lingerie, the perfume she had always worn. She still prepared herself for his every return to their home, just as she had before they were married. And now, she didn't even go out with anyone else of course. She saved her every sensuous nerve ending just for Mark.

She was his slave, for sex or anything else. And yet, she sat for the umpteenth time, alone, wanting, beginning to nervously squirm once again at thoughts of her husband in bed, and the many more men she wished she still had to fulfill her life. This could not go on.

Flight 24, New York to Los Angeles

Mark Deering boarded the Tuesday morning flight to Los Angeles International Airport. He found his first class seat in the First Class section and easily lifted his small suitcase to the overhead bin. Despite his obvious lack of need for help, he felt the impression of what could only be a pair of large breasts into his back.

"Can I help you?" Came the voice, soft and somewhat low in pitch.

Mark turned inside the woman's arms, outstretched as if to reach up to the bag. When he faced her, she let her arms linger just a little longer than necessary, before smiling devilishly and withdrawing. She dropped her arms, and her forehead as if shy and suddenly embarrassed.

"Maybe later," Mark said, smiling back and winking before he bent to fold himself into his seat.

The flight attendant stepped up to the side of his aisle seat, reached above him, and slowly closed the bin door. The view this gave the man in 2A was just what she had wanted to give.

Mark was suddenly flipped on like a switch. Her thighs were just beside his face, her short skirt hiked way up to reveal the top of her hose, and what had to be the last piece of her thighs before they joined. Had he dropped just slightly in his seat, he would be able to catch a glimpse. He did.

Elizabeth Langer looked down for a second while she falsely made as if to push again on a too big bag to cram it into the confined space of the overhead bin. She knew already what she would see, and was delighted to be right once again. The Tuesday regular was hunched down slightly in his seat, his face inches from her mound, and suddenly dropping a couple inches further to get a good look. She took a deep breath as she looked back up at the bin and closed its door. One last trick she used in this little act was to fake a sudden release of the bin as if she'd lost her balance and let her torso move forward, pushing her mound right into the man's face. She let her left hand come down on the seat back to the passenger's left, and her right on the seat beside him too. This resulted in her ample breasts, made to appear even larger as they hung down in their sheer bra, suddenly hanging directly in front of Mark's face. She accompanied the "fall" with a muffled, "Oh!"

Mark couldn't resist her breasts anymore than he could resist her thighs and what lurked between them. He leaned his head forward while raising both hands in a "natural" effort to "support" her in her fall. They were both pleased with the results: Mark got his "feels" and Beth felt the man's hands on her stiff nippled breasts. It was all of course, a well orchestrated personal greeting played out many times before. She couldn't wait.

Back in the New York City Apartment

Marla rose from her heavily cushioned nest and walked slowly to the bedroom. They lived in an apartment with a terrace overlooking 84th street, facing south, and she walked by the living room windows without so much as thinking about their curtains being open. She was already in her workout clothes, ready to go to the gym, but the sensations raging in her body were too much to resist. She had to take care of things that needed taking care of, now.

Pulling her loose fitting top over her head as she entered the bedroom, she noticed now that the curtains were open here too. She had left them that way as she had readied to leave only minutes ago. The light was the last ingredient to waking up in the morning. It validated the day and took great advantage of their south facing apartment's windows.

She stopped suddenly however, realizing she had just bared her sports bra to all who might look from the building across 84th street. Thoughts began racing through her mind, thoughts new to her, provocative thoughts, dangerous thoughts as well. Why not leave the curtains open?

She stood there for several minutes considering what she was going to do. She began rationalizing the idea by saying that there were probably no men home at this time of day. Only women would see her, if anyone at all. That didn't bother her. She had been in far too many gyms and locker rooms and dressed and undressed completely in the full view of other women to care at all. The only thing that had ever bothered her in the least, and this not very much, was how the women all seemed to gawk at her lovely body and long waving red hair.

Marla made her decision and turned abruptly on her heel and faced the bathroom. She waited there for a moment and then slipped a thumb under her gym shorts on either hip, pushing them down slowly to the floor. She could have let them fall once they had cleared the widest portion of her hips, but she wanted to feel sexy, to feel vulnerable, to perform for the curtainless windows. Her movement brought her head down below her hips as she pushed the shorts all the way to the floor.

She had not showered yet this morning and could smell herself. Her pussy was already "sweating" and had made its presence known to her in the form of her scent. It intoxicated her embarrassingly, taunting her to touch herself. But she wanted to extend her pleasure. There was no hurry.

Marla could have simply lifted her feet from the discarded garment too, but that longing feeling for something stirring was grasping her more and more tightly the more she complied with its wishes. She bent a knee and lifted one ankle from her shorts, placing it back down on top of them. A similar procedure took place with the other foot and the shorts were free of her body.

She rose to a standing position. As if to check to see if anyone was looking, she glanced over her shoulder at the windows. There were no eyes she could see. There were no naked men standing in a window, masturbating to her show. There were not even any women watching, no one at all. She was still alone, still unsatisfied, still very lonely. The windows looked back however, all the while keeping hope alive that someone might just see her from beyond, and that much alone gave her inspiration to continue.

Marla flipped her hair back over her head and fluffed and smoothed it down with her hands. She couldn't help but look down at her breasts. They were severely restrained in her sports bra and needed some care, some massaging, some attention. The decision was made, the next act defined. She was going through with this little episode of exhibitionism and without regard to repercussions. If anything happened, anyone said anything, she could easily talk her way out of any contentions that she was a nymphomaniac or otherwise deviant person. This was truly the first time she had ever done this. There was no way anyone could point to repeated behavior and have her thrown out of the building. And besides, there was no one looking. She had seen that for herself. She would try this once and see just what affect it had on her.

Marla looked down at her feet and kicked her shorts up to the bed with a flare. They landed on the edge but held there. In the process, she had turned herself about ninety degrees toward the bed. She could look to her right now to see out the window, but she refused to interrupt her actions. First one hand and then the other went behind her and up to the clasp on her sports bra. She preferred this style to the one piece stretch over's. Her fingers fumbled with the familiar mechanism, a bit more than normal, reminding her she was doing something quite different and maybe bolder than ever before.

Finally, the hooks were free and the bra unlatched. Though she was tempted again to look out the window, she refrained and slowly slipped the straps over her shoulders while looking forward at the head of the bed. Letting the bra fall down her arms, she caught it just before it fell completely free and flicked it over to join her shorts on the bed. The blatant act of exposure excited her. She felt the coolness of the air on her bare breasts and it tickled her nipples to an even harder state.

Not knowing what to do next, she decided to let her arms down to her sides. This felt good, liberating, even daring, but unfulfilling. She slid them slowly in front of her thighs and around further to the insides. Drawing them slowly upward, she allowed them to caress her swelling vulva briefly on their way up to her stomach. Marla let them roam on her soft skin for a moment or two before resuming their upward travel toward her breasts.

She first cupped her breasts, held them outward toward the bed, as if to offer them to an imaginary lover in the sheets before her. Certainly if there was anyone looking on, they would be thinking surely there must be someone there, though they would be hard pressed to find him.

Marla then felt compelled to suck her own nipples. She lifted her right breast and forced it upward almost to the point of discomfort before her lips and tongue could reach the turgid nipple. She devoured it. She only now realized how horny this display of herself to the world was making her. When her lips surrounded her nipple, the suction seemed to come from somewhere else it was so fast, hard and furious. She felt the release all the way down to her melting pussy. She could now recognize that the juices had all this time been pent up inside her, pushing at her thong assisted and swollen pussy lips, waiting for the right moment to release and flood down her legs. That moment was now and all possibility of stopping her bedroom window show was gone.

At Thirty-Five Thousand Feet

The flight to Los Angeles was uneventful except of course for the little games Elizabeth seemed compelled to play. She was a great lay on his trips to California, and though he soon tired of the repetitive nature of their foreplay on the plane, this being her regular route, the sex was worth it.

They had met on this very flight just three months ago when she spilled coffee on his lap. She already had eyes on him, having seen him on each Tuesday of her first three weeks on the new schedule. She had been determined to meet him somehow despite his apparent disinterest. Each time he'd boarded the flight he'd had coffee and a Danish, only to melt into his work for the rest of the flight. He had never approached her and she refused to put much stock in the wedding ring he wore on his left hand.

He had impressed her immensely with his black slick hair, always perfect in its display, and his tall figure. He obviously worked out and she couldn't help but wonder what the man was like in bed, probably an animal. She fantasized that she would somehow be one with him, know him carnally. On that fateful morning three months ago, she had been thrown into that chance meeting when she truly did spill his coffee. She had been walking toward him with the preflight beverage, examining his entire body yet again that morning. The plane was taxiing toward the runway but the Captain had not yet given the "Prepare for takeoff," warning. She would continue with her service until that came.

When she leaned down and over his body to put the coffee in the receptacle on the arm rest between his and the empty seat beside him, the Captain had seen fit to first hit the brakes, which she was able to sustain, but then let them go just as quickly, which she was not prepared for. The result was she pushed herself, more than was thrown, back into the chest of the object of her desires, and the hot coffee poured directly onto his cock and balls. His suit was soaked, but his inhale at the pain of the hot liquid making its contact with his privates nearly made him scream.

All Beth could do was freeze. She remained over his body, one hand holding her up by bracing on his shoulder, and the other hand holding the empty cup, upside down, over his lap. His eyes squinted, then opened, and looked down at the damage. The coffee's temperature was not enough to burn, only to inflict that instant pain that lingered only as long as it cooled to body temperature. He found himself looking into her eyes for the first time. "You're sure it's good to the last drop are you?" He looked down at his lap again.

Beth looked down too and realized she was holding the empty cup in an upturned position, directly over his loins. As if to emphasize the point, one last drip fell from the cup to his pants and disappeared quickly into the existing stain. She bolted upright. "I am so sorry! Oh my God! This never happened before! I am so…"

"Flight attendants, take your seats please for takeoff," The intercom sounded.

Beth looked up at the cockpit door, then back at her injured passenger and was for the first time on the job, confused as to what to do next. Fortunately, the man saw her confusion and said graciously, "It's all right. Go do your thing. I'll be safe here till I can get up." He smiled at her and couldn't help but look at her intently for the first time.

She was blond with long hair, obviously bleached or colored or whatever women do to become more gorgeous than they need to be. She was built like the Grand Tetons, her breasts standing out like they were stone cold and hard. Her waist was trim though not too small and her ass was just, well, abundant. He could get lost in that flesh for days, he thought.

Right now however, he had a different problem and that was trying to salvage his suit for the meetings he had as soon as he arrived in LA. The plane took off and soon reached cruising altitude. The entire time this took, the flight attendant kept poking her head up to see if he was ok and if there was anything she could do for him. He simply smiled each time and she kept hoping. This was either going to be a black mark on her record, a non-event she would soon write off to "Things that could have been," or the opportunity she'd been looking for.

Once the seat belt sign had been extinguished, Beth was up and immediately at his side. "We have to get those stains out quickly. You probably don't have another suit, do you?"

Mark liked to travel on these regular trips as light as possible. He had extra shirts and ties and all the underwear he needed, but the suit was a loner. There was no other, and he didn't relish having to buy something casual and embarrass himself in front of his client. Each time he'd spilled coffee in the past, he'd done what mothers all over the world teach their sons, club soda and towel it dry. He looked up at the red faced flight attendant and asked, "Do you have any Club Soda?"

She said, "Of course! But how will you…?"

He cut her off. "I'm not. You are. Come on, I'll show you." His last three words had turned her inside out. At first she'd thought he was about to berate her, and suddenly he was acting and winking like they were co-conspirators. She followed him to the First Class lavatory.

"I'm gonna take these off, and pass them to you. You can try the club soda, blot them dry as you can, and pass them back to me. Surely they'll dry before we get to California." He smiled as he backed into the small lavatory and pushed the bi-fold door closed on her. He removed his shoes and then pants, leaving the wallet and money inside. He would see if that might tell him something later. Then he pulled the doors open and handed his pants to the flight attendant.

She couldn't help but look down at his groin. The doors had been pulled completely open, not trying to hide anything. She could instantly see his semi-bikini under pants, black, also wet with the coffee. She flinched at the thought of the hot brew hurting that seemingly huge and precious lump under the material.

Mark saw her squint and smiled at her. "Don't worry. No permanent damage."

She felt some relief and asked, holding the door open, unable to take her eyes of his sexual parts, "Do you want me to, ah, do those, ah…."

He smiled at her stumbling and said, "Naw. I'll just take 'em off." He pushed the door shut again and waited a full fifteen minutes before she knocked. Now he was toying with her.

"Uh, Mr. Deering?" The voice asked hesitantly.

Hmmmm, he thought. She might have had his name on the manifest. No proof yet.

"Yes. Are they ready?" He asked politely.

At first, she was going to hand him the pants. But now she realized she had a hunk of a man in her lavatory, with no pants on, and her mind was spinning with fantasies. "Yes, I do have them. They are still wet though…."